


Passing Seasons

by nasimwrites



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen, Golden Age (Narnia), Post-LWW, Rebellions, Tournaments, Violence, some dark themes.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 58,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4724690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasimwrites/pseuds/nasimwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Here was once a land of joy and plenty, once torn apart by the Long Winter and now twice torn apart by those who dare call themselves saviors of Narnia.”</i>  Summer brings new challenges for the Pevensies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Narnia Fic Exchange of 2013. Many thanks to Janet for being my beta, and to the writer of the poem below, whom I was never able to contact after finding her poem online.

_“In the thickest of it all_   
_We waited_   
_For the icy winds and the bitter frost_   
_To fade_   
_So the forest would be our own again._   
_Summer nights under the beam of the moon_   
_We hoped_   
_That life would be long and full of prosperity_   
_To forget_   
_Our previous sorrows and fears.”_   
_**-Jas**_

The sun was already high in the sky by the time the hooves of Peter's strong white stallion hit the stones of the paved road that would lead them to the very gates of Cair Paravel. From where he was, he could already smell the salt of the sea as the wind blew its scent towards him. The people of Narnia enjoyed seeing their High King leave the high walls of his palace, but the High King himself enjoyed the privilege of exploring the grassy plains of his kingdom.

"I look forward to seeing the preparations for the festival," Lord Peridan remarked as he rode up behind Peter. Peridan had joined the Pevensies in Cair Paravel three months ago, after it became known to the Kings and Queens that he was the grandson of a Narnian courtier who had been forced into exile during the early years of the White Witch's reign and had been living in Archenland ever since. Though they were only getting to know him, Peter had already established a firm friendship with the man. And he had to admit that there was some comfort in having another human around other than his siblings; also, Peridan was an early riser, just like him, which made him the perfect companion for his morning rides through the country.

Dorick, the old Red Dwarf councilor, had managed to convince Peter of the necessity of having a companion. "You are the High King, Sire. Though we understand these rides are for your personal enjoyment and therefore important to Your Highness' person, it is of the utmost importance that Your Majesty remain safe at all times, particularly given the state of the country at this moment. It would be a relief to us all if you were to take at least one able, trustworthy companion who might aid you in the event of any misfortune."

'The state of the country' had greatly improved as of late, Peter reflected with more relief than pride as they passed through a patch full of trees that momentarily blocked their view of the horizon around them, though towards the end of the road he could already glimpse the silver gleam of turrets in the bright sunlight. At the start of their reign revolts had started one after another, brought on by the followers of the White Witch who still believed they could take the power. Though badly planned and small in numbers, in most cases, these attacks had been vicious and Peter and Edmund had been forced to ride out many times and defend the Narnians from the assaults. Peter had come to fear that one of them would be killed only months after their coronation, but thankfully most of the savage creatures had been killed during the battles or had retreated to the north, where they would probably die out, scattered as they were.

"The preparations are scheduled to be done by midmorning," Peter replied with a grin as they left the shadow of the trees and rode up a small hill.

The view was breathtaking. Peter drew his horse to a halt and stared down into the grassy extension of land that lay between them and the beach of the Great Eastern Ocean. At the furthest point of the Peninsula was the hill upon which Cair Paravel stood in all her glory. The sun was so high that the shadow of the citadel obscured neither the bright green of the grass nor the golden-red banners that framed the sides of the road leading up to the large Western Gate, nor even the gleaming white sand and rocks that surrounded The Cair. Though he had seen it hundreds of times by now, Peter thought he would never grow used to the glory of the view. Hanging from one of the highest towers of the palace was the largest banner of all: The Great Lion's face roared gloriously in his direction, his golden mane shining in the light.

But his eyes were soon drawn to the grassland nearer to him, where a great multitude of Narnians were working hard, setting up a multitude of tents and pavilions, tiltyards, stables and outhouses, barriers and stands. The banners blew fiercely in the wind, and Peter could see small groups of creatures carrying large crates, barrels, and furniture, or pulling along wheelbarrows and carts. Peter turned to look at Peridan, who had a smile on his face, his shoulder-length brown hair flowing in the wind.

"I can feel the excitement from here, Sire," said Peridan, his grin widening, and followed Peter's stallion with a trot down the side of the hill towards the large expansion of hundreds of tents.

The first group Peter encountered was a group of Fauns carrying barrels and crates of wine into a large tent. They tried to bow as he passed, slowing his horse to a short trot, but nearly stumbled over themselves.

"Have care, my friends!" Peter called out towards them with a chuckle. "Lest formal courtesy deprive us from the sweet taste of good Narnian wine!"

"Aye Sire!" cried out a couple of red dwarves who were sitting on piles of firewood near the entrance of the tent, holding flagons of wine in their hands.

"Sampling it already, Rogin?" Peridan remarked sternly, though his smile gave him away, "At this rate you'll have finished it all, and there'll be none left for the Galman King and we'll have war at our gates!"

"Oh shush, Peridan," one of the dwarves said in a raspy voice, though Peter could sense his amusement. "Unlike you Archenlanders, we Narnians have appreciation for good wine. Their Majesties need us to ensure that the visitors will get the best from our cellars. And the good Fauns have been hiding such big stashes in their caves for the past hundred years, I doubt anyone will go without!"

"Aye, there'll be enough for Bacchus himself if he decides to pay a visit."

The merry laughter followed them as they continue on their path, mixing with the anxious murmurs of a bunch of dirt-covered moles that were digging holes for the last few buildings that needed to be set up. One of them ran up to Peter's horse as he dismounted, taking off his leather gloves and grabbing hold of the reins. Behind him Peridan did the same.

"Master Lilygloves!" Peter said with a smile. "Are we finished yet?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," said the young mole proudly as it walked down the road with Peter. Peter never knew where to look when speaking to the Talking Beast; he knew that moles had eyes, but they were so tiny that he couldn't find them in the mass of fur and scattered dirt… and he knew Lilygloves was blind anyway. He decided to focus on the view around them. "The dirt's soft and pliable here, Sire. There's just one stable and two stands left for building and we'll have them finished in no time."

"We are on schedule then," said Peter gladly. "Thank you very much for your help. If you and your team need anything just let me know."

"Don't thank us, Sire!" said Lilygloves with a chuckle. "If anytime Your Majesties wish to bring us joy, just let me and my team plant you something up in Cair Paravel." His nose twitched as he sniffed in the direction of the large structure. "The dirt up there's perfect for gardening… perhaps a field of roses and an orchard or two…"

Peter chuckled. "I am sure Queen Susan will love that idea. I'll let you know. For now, though, let us focus on the festival."

"Of course, Sire," said Lilygloves with a wide smile, and he sank down on his haunches in what Peter had come to recognized as the mole's version of a bow. "I shall get back to work now, Sire!"

As the mole waddled off and narrowly avoided being run over by a cart full of barrels and crates of food and wine, Peter went further down the road, passing many pavilions with Talking Beasts running in and out carrying furniture or setting up barriers. He thought he caught a glimpse of a dryad or two smiling as they carried sweetly perfumed flowers into the tents. Somewhere along the way, Peridan took his leave and went to join a group of satyrs who were polishing trumpets in the shadow of a large structure that Peter imagined was soon to become the Tree of Shields.

The Summer Festival had been Lucy's idea nearly six months ago, when they had received a letter from the Tisroc of Calormen congratulating them on their defeat of the White Witch in terms that barely escaped a condescending and altogether dismissive tone. At the same time, there had been reports of panic among the Narnians as winter came upon the country again; this time a natural winter brought on solely by nature. But it seemed that the Narnians feared the return of the White Witch, and some of them even took the snow as a sign of her return to power. It took many rides in the cold snow to visit the settlements of Dwarves, Fauns and Talking Beasts to reassure them that their Kings and Queens remained alive and well and had no intention of allowing them to be enslaved ever again. But it became apparent to Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy that it was their job to reinstate the confidence and merriment that the Narnians had always been so known for.

A festival, then, was proposed, as a solution to both problems: on the one hand, the Narnians would participate in joyful festivity and a blatant display of their country's strength and benediction, reinforcing their confidence and giving them something to be excited about as well as promote unity between the different races and villages when working together. On the other hand Narnia's neighbors would visit the country and get to know its Kings and Queens as well as its people and customs, establishing Narnia as a powerful neighboring country in the eyes of the rest of the continent.

It had taken them the entirety of those six months to plan and develop the festival. Messengers had been sent to every country outside Narnia and every village within Narnia, inviting them to participate and bring their trade to the festival; even the distant village of the Marsh-Wiggles at the northern border had accepted to come, though they said there were likely to be storms and flooding during the week of the festival and they probably would all drown on their way to Cair Paravel. And so, over the past two months, more and more groups of Narnians had come up to the citadel bearing food, building materials and much talent, and they had slowly begun to put together the Summer Festival. A wide variety of entertainment was promised to all those who participated: dancing, jousting, sparring, feasts, races, bonfires, archery, boxing, apple-throwing, board games and any other sport imaginable. Nearly six hundred people were expected to participate, Narnian and otherwise, and the Pevensies had been keen to ensure that all of them enjoyed as much commodity as it was possible to give them.

Now, as he looked around him, Peter saw the fruit of all of their efforts and felt proud of Narnia for accomplishing so much.

Aurelius was approaching him. The large chestnut centaur was wiping his hands on a rag as he walked towards Peter, giving him a deep bow in a majestic manner that no other creature could ever hope to imitate. No matter how many times he spoke to these creatures, Peter could never shake the feeling that he was too small to be giving them orders, High King or not.

"High King," said Aurelius in his deep, rumbling voice. He was the one in charge of the management of the last preparations. "We are nearly finished. The dwarves have already brought in the last supplies of bread, butter and milk, and the Fauns should be bringing in the last of the wine within the next few minutes. The decorations are being set as we speak and the moles and beavers should be done with the building within the next hour."

Just as Peter was about to reply, a Black Dwarf walked up to them, adjusting his cap. He gave a short bow, a roll of parchment in his hand. "Your Majesty, I have counted all the tents and it seems we've got just about enough space for everyone, assuming the giants aren't coming along too." His beady black eyes jumped as he looked up at Peter in alarm. "They aren't, are they?"

"Do not worry yourself," said Peter, shaking his head. "The Buffins have already been spoken to and they have assured us they have found other sleeping arrangements further up the shore. Just make sure the trees know that they can't be too close to the pavilions. I do not think the Calormene Prince will take it well if he finds himself suddenly surrounded."

The Dwarf gave a curt nod and with another bow, was gone. Peter hoisted himself onto the saddle once more, now closer to the centaur's height. He felt a bit more comfortable. "Do we know when they are arriving, Aurelius?"

The centaur glanced at the sky. "Two eagles left earlier this morning; they should be back with news soon."

"Very well," said Peter. "Thank you. Oh, and make sure the dwarves don't finish all our wine."

Peter almost thought he saw amusement in the centaur's eyes as he rode away towards the Western Gate of Cair Paravel.

As he drew closer he could hear the crashing of the waves on the ocean, and the smell of salt once more reached his nose. He wondered if the sirens cared much for the Summer Festival; they had been alerted, of course, but hadn't seemed very interested in it, as they hardly ever did. He turned his gaze away from the ocean and focused on the large, gleaming walls of the citadel. He had always admired the way they glittered in the sun, almost as if they were made of marble, like the floors of some of the more elegant buildings he had seen in England. He knew this was impossible. As far as he knew, there was no marble in Narnia, and the truth was that the walls were really a very light grey color instead of white, but whoever had constructed it had been a brilliant architect. (Peter had heard mixed stories about whom it had really been; stories that varied from different Kings to theories that said Aslan himself had built them somehow with help from the Merepeople. Peter didn't trust any of these, though he knew Lucy often enjoyed listening to the various versions). Cair Paravel truly seemed like the shining heart of the nation.

The banners flapped in the wind as he crossed through the gates that were wide open; even here he could see groups of Fauns and dryads carrying things out towards the grasslands from the cellars and the spare rooms of the palace. Faun, satyr, centaur and Dwarf guards dressed in Narnian colors stared straight ahead as he rode by. Oreius and some of the other centaurs who had been turned to stone by the White Witch in her castle, and revived by Aslan himself, were responsible for this training. The Narnians had long forgotten the ways of the court after one hundred years of hiding, and it had taken all the efforts of those who were old and held the memories and traditions close to heart to bring Narnia into a disciplined and systematic way of life. The Pevensies would never be able to thank these enough; they themselves had had no idea how to be Kings and Queens, and still often needed their guidance. Oreius and Dorick, along with Mr. Tumnus and Peridan, had become their closest allies and councilors in the court meetings.

Susan met him at the top of the steps of the Great Hall, already dressed in a soft blue gown with golden embroidery. Though less than a year had passed since they had reached Narnia, Peter found it difficult to reconcile his sister, the Queen of Narnia, and the young bossy girl who had walked through the wardrobe with him; she simply seemed entirely different in every sense. She had matured. And it wasn't only her… Edmund and Lucy had also changed greatly. He supposed they were probably experiencing the same disconcertment as he was; there was stubble on his face that hadn't been there before, and muscles on his arms and chest that he hadn't even known existed. There were scars, too. The battles they had fought in such a short time had already taken their toll.

"Finally, you have returned!" Susan exclaimed anxiously, picking up her skirts as she went down the steps from where the thrones were to where a small table had been set out to serve breakfast to the four of them. It was currently empty, though Peter could see Susan's dryad handmaiden waiting patiently by the doorway in case they were in need of anything. "There are so many things we have yet to take care of, and the delegations should be arriving soon."

"It will be fine, Su," he said. "I just returned from speaking to Aurelius and everything is running smoothly."

She stared at him pointedly.

"Oh," he muttered, looking down at his dusty boots and trousers. He cleared his throat. "I shan't take very long. Where are Edmund and Lucy?"

"Edmund was getting out of bed, when I last left him, but he is faster than you, so will not take long," Susan replied with a teasing smile. "Lucy is out in the gardens."

Lucy was always out in the gardens at this time of the morning. She seemed to wake up earlier than any of them, and every day she seemed to make some kind of pilgrimage down to the gardens at the center of the citadel, walking under the trees and sitting on the grass. Susan had originally expressed a concern that she might be lonely, but it soon became apparent to them that Lucy found joy in these morning walks. They had even heard her sing a song or two, now and then, or kneel down in the grass and speak in a hushed voice what sounded like a prayer.

Peter sighed and met Susan's gaze, seeing his worry reflected in her eyes. They had many concerns about Lucy, particularly lately. "She is still a little girl, Peter," Susan had whispered to him one night after dinner, before they parted ways to go to bed. "I am not sure she is prepared to deal with all the responsibilities and the problems that this sort of life throws at us."

It was true, Peter had thought. Every day they were walked from one council room to the next, either discussing the trading situation with Galma or the defense strategy should the Northern Giants attack. Then they were forced to take classes on every manner of subject, for Kings and Queens must be well educated… from ordinary spelling and calligraphy to dictation and the Ancient Narnian Tongue, and they were encouraged to take part in arts of every kind as well as train in diverse forms of combat. On top of these responsibilities were the trials and the counseling that as Rulers of the land they must take part of.

Susan had thrived in the classes and arts, as well as archery, having always been a good student in school. While she found training and council meetings long and dull, she never let it show, and when the time came to give advice or judgment before her subjects, she was gentle, kind and never wearied. Peter struggled with many of the classes, particularly calligraphy; but he was perseverant, if not stubborn, and managed to do well in them in spite of himself. Training exercises were his favourite part of the day and he always put every ounce of his energy into it, yet he always found the energy to aid his subjects.

Edmund was the strategist, the intellectual one, and yet he excelled in training as well. Peter often thought that his only fault was that he pushed himself too hard. Though nearly a year had passed, Peter suspected that Edmund had still not entirely forgiven himself for his betrayal with the White Witch; he would often catch him deep in thought, and while Edmund had always been serious, even as a young child, there was something almost mournful about him at times.

But Lucy… Lucy was barely over ten years old. Though she seemed full of that inherent joy that always seemed to bubble up inside her, both Peter and Susan wondered what she was really thinking. "Is it right of us to force her to sit still, study and work hard all day? She's only a child… she shouldn't be forced to be a Queen for an entire country when she's so young. She's still so naïve… she doesn't deserve to be mixed up in all the battles and violence that we're exposed to…"

"Pete."

Peter snapped out of his thoughts and turned his head to see Edmund standing in the doorway of one of the many corridors that lead into the Great Hall of Cair Paravel, dressed in an elegant dark blue tunic woven with silver thread and looking the part of King Edmund the Just. "Look, I'm starving too," said Edmund, raising his eyebrows and glancing at the breakfast laden table. "But shouldn't you go get dressed now? We're rather short on time."

"I  _told_  you," Susan said with wide eyes, nudging him with her elbow as she passed him and went to sit down at the table, grabbing a slice of toast and setting it in her plate. "Hurry and come back looking like the High King of Narnia."

Edmund laughed as she handed him a platter full of bacon, moving it just out of Peter's reach as the High King in question tried to snatch a piece to eat on his way.

"Fine, I'll go," Peter said, narrowing his eyes and pretending to be angry at them. "There had better be some of that left when I get back."

...

Shortly after Peter had left, Lucy came traipsing in, her reddish blonde hair flying freely behind her, unlike Susan's dark locks that had been held up in braids. There were even a few minuscule flowers in her hair, which Susan suspected was the work of one of the dryads that lived in the court gardens. Her golden and red dress only served to make her smile even brighter.

"I am  _so_ thrilled," she said excitedly as she sat down at the table quickly, reaching for a glass of orange juice. "Mr. Tumnus says the dryads are likely to dance at one of the festivals. We have not seen such a thing since our coronation!"

"I'm looking forward to seeing everyone's faces when they get here," Edmund said with a grin as he took a spoonful of scrambled eggs. "I still can't believe none of the other countries have Talking Beasts and Fauns and Dryads and the like."

"Let's hope there's not a good reason for that," Susan murmured. "Make sure you don't laugh; I'm sure they'll find it offensive."

Edmund raised an eyebrow at her. "You expect  _me_  to laugh? I have the best poker face of us all!"

Susan further proved his point by laughing at his remark.

"I only wish Mr. and Mrs. Beaver could come," Lucy said rather sadly.

"They could not travel all the way here," Susan reminded her. "The trip would prove too long for Mr. Beaver's legs."

A few minutes later Peter came in nearly running, his golden tunic and well-combed golden hair giving him a majestic aura. The effect was slightly ruined though, by the way he absentmindedly fingered his golden crown as he sat down at the table and reached for the pan of scrambled eggs with his other hand.

Lucy laughed and snatched it away from him, grabbing a napkin and polishing it clean of his fingerprints. "Only  _you_  would actually bring your crown to breakfast with us. I gave mine to Klaia."

"I didn't have time! Susan has been rushing me since the moment she saw me… I don't want to waste time having to run back for it."

Just as he was finishing his last bite of bacon, they heard a flapping of wings followed by the sound of hooves against stone. An eagle flew through the main entrance and landed on the floor a few feet away from their table. Behind him, a Faun ran in, stopping at a distance as well.

"Good Morning, Your Majesties," said the eagle in an amiable tone. "Forgive me for interrupting your meal, but I have news. The delegations are near already, and should all be arriving within the next two hours."

They soon found themselves sitting under a pavilion on a well polished wooden dais with garlands of flowers hanging from above and perfume in the air. Two centaurs stood on either side of the pavilion, guarding them so mightily that Susan found herself worrying that the guests would feel threatened by their presence. She knew it was necessary to show power, though, and she held back her remark.

The first delegations of guests that arrived, however, were Narnian ones, and though the Kings and Queens hadn't been waiting for them specifically, they were nonetheless received joyfully. Those from towns farther from Cair Paravel had been forced to arrive later, and among them were the Marsh Wiggles, who presented them with many carts of salted fish which they offered generously, though they warned everyone that the "fish have gone rotten in the sun, I shouldn't wonder, cause us Wiggles are terrible at preserves. We'll all get food poisoning, no doubt about it." A cheerier crowd was the Grey Fauns, who entered dancing to a small band of fiddles and pipes, followed by a surlier group of black dwarves who complained about the noise yet presented everyone with great loaves of rich bread and many pieces of ham. All in all, things were going successfully, and as Susan turned to look at her sister, she saw that Lucy all but danced in her seat to the tune of the Fauns' music.

Soon enough, however, the first foreign delegation arrived. It was announced by a single trumpet blast and a gryphon that flew over the camp, calling out that the King of Galma had arrived. Peter stood up quickly and his siblings followed, leaving the pavilion and making their way to beach as soon as they caught sight of a large ship crossing the horizon.

The harbor wasn't that far from Cair Paravel, but they were separated from the peninsula where the citadel lay by a rocky hill upon which stood one of the two small watchtowers that guarded the Cair.

Horses were brought forth for the Kings and Queens (not Talking Beasts, of course. These were trained, dumb horses. A group of Talking Horses was present in the camp, particularly keen on participating in the racing, but nobody would dare ask them if they could be ridden unless it was a matter of life or death). A group of nearly thirty Narnians left the camp in the direction of the docks; a single Faun trotting ahead of them carrying the Narnian banner upon which Aslan roared. Behind them followed a cart carrying a small group of dwarves, the entire band of Grey Fauns, Oreius and another centaur, a satyr and a large group of Talking Beasts among which were two leopards, a badger, many intensely curious dogs, two badgers, various rabbits, hares and an eagle or two.

They dismounted at the beach, where three dogs were given the task of watching the horses. Peter thought it fitting that they were sheep dogs; he wondered if anyone else in Narnia other than his siblings would understand the joke. The Narnian dogs didn't divide themselves in different races, so he doubted they would understand the concept.

The sand tickled Lucy's feet as it made its way into her shoes, but she resisted the urge of pulling them off and walking barefoot; this was not the time. The group was not as loud as it had been before as they drew nearer to the shore, though the Fauns skipped from here to there joyfully and there was a pleasant yet hushed chatter among the Talking Beasts. Peter led the way over the sand, his crown and his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, looking truly magnificent.

As the Galman Ship drew nearer they could see the banners that the ship flagrantly displayed: the silver bear catching a fish in its jaws over a blue and green background. It was a low yet long ship, with large triangular sails that gleamed white in the sunlight, flags fluttering in the wind high above them. Countless rows swished to and fro as the ship neared Narnia, its long, thin prow aiming for Cair Paravel. They could see men moving on the deck. Edmund shifted nervously.

"It looks different than the pictures I've seen in England," he said over the noise of the crashing waves.

"It's a beautiful ship," Susan remarked.

Lucy's eyes gleamed. "We should get a Narnian ship built!"

Edmund looked interested. "We would have to find someone with experience in that, though," he said in a low voice. "And I don't see anyone around here that might have it…" He glanced at the dwarves who were shaking sand out of their boots and then at some of the Talking Beasts, particularly the feline ones, who were looking rather miffed at the feel of the strong wind and the loud water.

Peter didn't have a chance to make a remark, because the ship had almost reached them. They stepped onto the dock and a badger walked forwards to offer Susan a parasol, which she politely refused. While the badger moved towards the back of the group, the rest rearranged themselves behind the Kings and Queens; the centaurs guarding them on either side, Dorick, the Faun with the banner, and a leopard named Witrow right behind them and the rest following afterwards.

As the ship drew nearer, Lucy could see words emblazoned in dark paint upon the side of the prow:  _The Star Seeker_. It was a good name, she thought, but rather unusual. The sides of it had been painted a deep blue, and from where she was, she could see the rows of sailors sitting below the deck. They no longer had to row, however, for the waves were doing their work for them and  _The Star Seeker_ was docking on her own.

"King Reghorius is the son of King Serlam II, and he comes from a long line of Kings descended from the man who founded Galma." Dorick was speaking in a low voice to the four of them.

"So it's been in the family for ages."

"Yes, Sire. Galma's main trade is fishing, and most of its commerce is directed towards Calormen, though some of it goes to the Seven Isles from time to time. They've managed to stay away from any of the mainland wars and haven't had a battle for years. Its relationship with Narnia prior to the Great Winter was good, but there were rumors that they refused Narnia aid when the Witch first began her attacks, which caused them to lose all their trade with Archenland, who has remained our steady ally since its very beginning."

"I don't like them," said Witrow matter-of-factly. "They smell like fish."

"I thought you liked fish," Edmund put in out of the corner of his mouth as some dwarves, centaurs and satyrs moved forwards to help anchor the ship and place the boardwalk.

"Not rotten fish," said Witrow, looking offended.

Lucy could see the sailors now, and she could easily pick out the knights among them for their bright clothes of bright greens and browns. They stood proudly, wearing short swords on their belts, some of them carrying shields or a quiver of arrows and a bow. Their skin had once been pale, but they were burnt brown by the sun. Lucy couldn't smell rotten fish of any sort from the boat, but she could hear the leopards muttering behind her.

Slowly, a small group of people began to disembark. Ahead of them all walked a banner man carrying the emblem of the Galman Nation, and behind him came King Reghorius of Galma, a very plump, short man with graying hair and a short grey beard which hid his neck from view. He wore long robes of bright blue and silver sash. On his fingers were many rings. His crown was large and glimmered silver as he dismounted with some difficulty, rubbing his hands together momentarily and then outstretching them, inclining his head slightly in their direction. His skin was tan, yet not as dark as that of his subjects, and his blue eyes gleamed as he met their gaze.

"My Lords and Ladies," said the King of Galma, greeting them with a courteous smile that almost seemed forced. "It is an honor to be here, in a country we once thought long lost to us humans."

Edmund caught the furtive glance the King gave towards the centaurs and the Fauns nearby. He held back a smirk.

"I thought all the Galmans ate was fish!" Witrow exclaimed in a loud, amused whisper that thankfully didn't carry towards the Galman delegation. "How does a man get that fat?"

"Quiet, Witrow!" Oreius hissed in his deep voice. Witrow fell quiet, his ears flat on his head. As daring as the leopard was, he wasn't mad enough to cross a centaur.

"We are equally honored to have you as our guest during the Summer Festival, King Reghorius," said Peter with an amiable smile from where he sat. "We hope you enjoy the accommodations we have provided for you and your men, and we look forward to celebrating alongside Galma during these merry days."

"You are very kind," said the King, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "I am pleased to see that though you are young, your country seems to thrive under your rule, King Peter."

" _High_  King Peter," Edmund put in, a polite smile on his lips. "All four of us are Kings and Queens, but my brother is the High King."

Nobody missed the condescension in the King's voice or the look in his eyes when he apologized. "Forgive me,  _High_ King Peter," he said. "You must understand that it is all rather confusing for your neighbors."

The silence could have been tense had the King not turned to motion towards something behind him.

"Allow me to present my son, Cadoc," he said, and a young boy no older than fifteen stepped forwards rather awkwardly. He was tall and lanky, his blonde hair falling in his face a bit and his eyes furtive as he bowed before them. He had the distinct look of someone who feels sick and is trying to hide it.

"Your Majesties," he said in a low voice.

"Speak louder," they heard the King mutter to his son through his forced a smile, before continuing to speak to them. "You must forgive my son; he is not feeling well at the moment, but I assure you that he will be participating in the tourneys and win our country some admiration through sparring during this festival."

"I am sure we will all find it most enjoyable," Peter said, his smile genuine as he glanced towards Cadoc, who really did seem on the verge of having an upset stomach.

"And this is my wife, Queen Amisse." Said the King, gesturing to his side. A young woman appeared; Susan thought she didn't look a day over thirty; she felt an odd stab of pity in her chest. The Queen looked rather shy as she bowed before them, and Susan smiled at her kindly. Amisse smiled back tentatively.

While the monarchs had been speaking, the knights had moved to stand behind the King of Galma and his son in a line. One by one, they began to introduce themselves: Lord Desmet, Lord Backqer, Lord Janghar, Lord Claeys, and many others. Some of them were quite young, while others seemed to be rather old for the intense physical activity they were expected to partake in. Meanwhile, the sailors brought all manner of boxes, crates and chests from the ship, and also led a few horses off the ship. A small group of men moved forwards from the delegation and set down a small chest before the dais.

"A small gift for Narnia to remember Galma by," said the King with an arrogant smile. A Dwarf stepped forwards from behind the Pevensies to take the chest and put it away, where it would be taken to the treasury of Cair Paravel.

"Strings of true pearls from the depths of the Galman Sea," said the King. "I hope you find the gift to your likings."

"They are lovely," Susan said with a bright smile. "Indeed the nation of Galma is most generous. We are afraid we have little to offer in exchange for such generosity."

"We could start by a good flagon of mead," said the King with a laugh.

"Mead shall be provided, then," said Peter with a chuckle. "And good wine and beer as well, for your family and all your men."

...

The badgers and the Fauns set up a small tent with chairs near the dock for the Pevensies, for the gryphon had flown over them once more, announcing that the Calormene ship was but half an hour away. So, while the Narnians helped the visitors carry their things to camp and provided horses for the King and his family, the Pevensies sat in the shade and listened to the sound of the waves and of the many voices of the people around them while eating fresh fruit that a dryad had just brought for them.

Lucy had a far-off look in her eyes as she buried her now bare feet in the sand and took a bite out of a ripe peach. Susan knew what she was going to say before she said it.

"Remember that time we went to the beach with Mother and Father?"

Edmund laughed. "The water was ice cold but you got in anyway because you said you didn't want to miss out on the experience."

Lucy giggled, leaning back in her seat, because nearly all the visitors had left the shore by now. "That was about… two years ago. Well, that is counting years in England, without counting these two years in Narnia. So, four years, really. Or was it more?"

Nobody said anything. Lucy shrugged and sighed contentedly, but Susan frowned.

"Where was it?"

"What?" asked Edmund, turning to look at her.

"That beach," he said. "Where was it?"

"I don't know," said Edmund bemusedly. "Does it matter?"

"Edmund, we went to that town nearly every summer holiday before the war started. We  _should_  know!"

"Well I don't!" Edmund said, looking taken aback. "I don't remember where it was."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, and they all looked at each other before looking away quickly. It was one of those things that they didn't like talking about much; England. Too many confusing conversations ensued. Susan wasn't sure  _why_  it was confusing, but that was the way it was. It was as if England was slowly slipping out of their memories.

She shook herself. It shouldn't matter. They were in Narnia now.


	2. Chapter 2

The Calormene ship appeared on the horizon soon afterwards, and this time they had more time to fully appreciate the view of the ship as it neared the shores of Narnia. It was vastly different from any ship they had ever seen, though it seemed vaguely familiar to Susan, as if he had seen that kind of ship once before, perhaps in some kind of history book.

It was an extremely long ship, low and almost like a box, with a single mast rising up from its center, the sail displaying the Calormen emblem of the dark Bird-headed god, Tash, against a white background. The ship turned as they watched it, and Lucy caught sight of the paintings at the front of the ship just above the prow, which was painted gold: the ship had eyes, as if it was staring at them. The eyes didn't look unfriendly, but they were strange. She looked away.

Countless colorful shields were displayed on the sides of the ship, making it particularly colorful, for Calormene shields had art carved onto them of different kinds.

"The Tarkaan Houses of The Empire of Calormen," Dorick explained as they stood in a formation once more to receive the newcomers. "It's tradition to display all their shields on a ship when neighboring a foreign country."

Beneath the deck of the ship, what seemed like hundreds of rows moved back and forth, steering the ship and nearing it to the harbor. There was something different about the way these men rowed from the way the sailors from Galma did. Perhaps it was the way they were so rhythmical and precise from the moment the rows touched the water until they left it and repeated the cycle. Either way, something about it seemed distinctly uncanny to Lucy.

From the distance they were at, they couldn't make out the faces of the group of men that stood on the deck of the ship, but they could see the fluttering colorful silken cloth of their clothes and their distinct Calormene turbans and pointed helmets.

The ship, which had no visible name, moved swiftly, and in almost no time at all it was being anchored by a strong dark skinned sailor dressed in white. Lucy could now see the people standing on the deck of the ship more clearly. At the head of the group were two men dressed in colorful tunics, their beards deep raven black and their turbans made of golden and silver cloth, with scimitars at their sides. It was obvious from their stance that they were the highest authority on the ship. Behind them stood those whom Lucy assumed were the Tarkaans of lower rank, standing tall and proud.

Dorick continued to murmur behind them. "The one with the golden turban is Jarrash Tarkaan, Crown Prince of the Empire of Calormene."

"So that's the future King," murmured Susan. "I understand the Tisroc is quite old."

"I doubt it," they heard Witrow say in a low growl, his tone more serious this time. "Even us Talking Beasts know about them."

"What do you mean?" Peter asked quickly.

The Red Dwarf sighed grimly. "He was third in the line, Sire," he said. "The two princes before him have died only in the past year. No one believes Jarrash will make it to the throne; I doubt even he is sure of it by now. The current Tisroc began his rule hardly nine months ago, but he already has fifteen sons with different wives and no doubt shall have more born before his rule is over. The political battle for the throne has only just begun."

They said nothing for a moment, watching the banner of Tash fluttering in the wind in a way that almost made its arms seem to be reaching out. The man with the golden turban stepped off of the ship, followed by his entourage, while those who had been rowing secured the ship and began to disembark large parcels and crates. A few horses were also brought down; large stallions that greatly rivaled the tired-looking, dusty animals from Galma.

"Third in the line, then," Edmund mused in a low voice, out of the Calormene's earshot. "So what happened to the brother before him?"

Dorick remained silent, but his unease was nearly tangible. Witrow growled softly. "These wear perfume," he said, and sneezed violently.

Lucy held back a laugh despite the severity of the conversation.

Jarrash Tarkaan stepped forward with a grace that came from years of training. His dark skin shone in the sunlight, looking almost as soft as the silks he wore, and the smile he offered them from beneath his beard was proud but sincere. He gave them an extremely complex bow.

"There are five different kinds of bows in Calormen etiquette," Dorick whispered quickly. "The Prince just gave you the fourth kind, which is performed before those slightly above one's rank, yet below that of the Tisroc, whom is the authority just above him. He is doing Your Majesties honor in a befitting way."

Peter smiled just as the Prince began to speak in a deep, melodious.

"My name is Jarrash Tarkaan and I am the Crown Prince of the Empire of Calormen and first heir to her throne, son of Adeben Tisroc himself (may he live forever), the son of Ishaq Tisroc, the son of Ilsombreh Tisroc, the son of Ardeeb Tisroc who was descended in a right line from the god Tash. I come to represent the country of my father's ruling before our most esteemed allies of the Kingdom of Narnia, and in his name I bestow upon Your Majesties his most effusive greetings and well-wishes. May your rule over this country be blessed by the gods and may your lives be eternal."

"You are very gracious, Prince Jarrash," said Peter, "It is an honor to count you and your people among us during these festivities. And we beg that you relay our gratitude to your father the Tisroc. May the friendship between our countries last forever."

The contrast between the greetings that had been offered by the Galman delegation and that of Calormen was great, and Lucy almost wished that the King of Galma had been present. She was instantly impressed by the elegance of the manner the people of Calormen displayed; despite the vicious politics she had heard they played, one could not deny that their court manners were astoundingly appealing.

The man with the silver turban who had remained at Jarrash Tarkaan's side stepped forwards, and fell to one knee in another display of respect, much like the Prince's but even more deferential. When he looked up, Lucy saw a younger face which struck her as surprisingly kind and humble for a man of such rank. His eyes reminded her of those of the Narnian Fauns… both full of joy and mournful at the same time.

"My name is Ishamiel Tarkaan and I am the eighth in the line of the throne held by my venerable father, Adeben Tisroc (may he live forever), the son of Ishaq Tisroc, the son of Ilsombreh Tisroc, the son of Ardeeb Tisroc who was descended in a right line from the almighty god Tash. It is an honor for me to accompany my brother in this invitation to join the festivities of the Kingdom of Narnia, and in the name of my brother and my country I present you with the gifts the Tisroc (may he live forever) has bidden us to impart upon Your Majesties, as a demonstration of Calormen's amity and generosity."

As he spoke, six men dressed in simple white trousers and sashes, their chests bare, stepped forwards and placed upon the wooden floors between the Pevensies and the Princes one small chest and two large cylindrical packages.

They then prostrated themselves on the floor behind the items and one of them exclaimed in a heavy Calormen accent, though Lucy couldn't identify which one of them it was. "These gifts the almighty Tisroc (may he live forever!) presents to the High King Peter, King Edmund, Queen Susan and Queen Lucy of the Kingdom of Narnia: two carpets of the most delicate and intricate weaving such as only royalty of Calormen can afford, to decorate the floors of their Majesty's homes in remembrance of their sister Calormen, and a chest of gold and Calormen spice the such of which is not found in any other land in the world!"

The men backed away and retreated behind the Tarkaans of Calormen. Two dwarves stepped forwards to grab hold of the gifts and put them away. Edmund could tell that the Calormenes were doing their best to hide their unease around the strange creatures they could see walking before them.

"The generosity of Calormen is great," said Peter courteously. And indeed the gifts looked wondrous. "Narnia can only hope to entertain and gladden you with our festivities; and indeed we hope you find your time among us enjoyable. Should you or your people require anything, do not hesitate to ask."

Jarrash smiled. "I am sure that we shall be completely satisfied. Long has my father the Tisroc (may he live forever) said that Narnia has brought blessings upon our house, for it happens that the very week Your Majesties brought an end to the Great Winter, the Tisroc was crowned and given the powers to rule."

"Oh, but we cannot take gratitude for such actions," Lucy spoke up suddenly, surprising everyone. "For it was not we, who are but simple mortals, but the Great Lion Aslan, who put an end to the winter and allowed us to defeat the White Witch. Should the blessings of both our countries be connected, it is by the grace of Aslan that it came to be, not by our humble hands."

Lucy could tell that the Tarkaans did not know what to say. As adorers of Tash they would not agree, but they would show them respect. All Jarrash did was bow very low, and he moved to a side as the Tarkaans behind them introduced themselves: Ilgamuth, Khaldun, Khalid, Alimash, Masud, among others. The names were all blurred in Lucy's mind.

"You are welcome to share some wine with us before we leave for the camp near The Cair," Peter said, once the introductions were over. "We shall open many barrels for all of your men once they are done unloading the ship, so we might all partake in a drink."

"Worry not about them, Your Lordship," said Jarrash casually, waving a hand towards the shirtless men dressed in white. "The slaves have no need for your courtesy. Simple drinks of water will suffice once the end of the day draws near."

"We lose nothing from granting them a drink of wine," said Edmund with a smile that hid extremely well what Lucy knew was disgust at the idea of slaves. "For in Narnia every living thing is free."

Jarrash bowed once more, his expression showing that he felt both impressed and confused at the same time. It occurred to Lucy that perhaps the idea of a nation without slaves hadn't occurred to him. "Very well, if Your Majesties see fit for them to benefit from your ample generosity, then so be it. It does no harm to me or my men, but do not feel like you must care for our slaves."

So barrels of wine were brought forth and all shared a drink, even the Calormene slaves, who seemed quite moved by the gesture. Lucy wished with all her heart that she could approach them and speak to them, but it was clear from Edmund's slight shake of his head that such a thing would be deemed offensive by the Tarkaans and therefore was certainly not a good idea. There was some relief in the knowledge that the Narnians would not understand the concept of slavery, however, and would treat the slaves much better than the Calormenes were likely to do in their own country.

As they rode back to camp, Lucy could see the newcomers eyeing the Fauns, the Talking Beasts and the Centaurs with no little trepidation. It didn't help that some of the creatures took advantage of it. She caught sight of Witrow staring at one of the Tarkaans in a way that would even startle her even if it were being done in only a joking way, which was what she suspected the leopard was doing; it probably had something to do with the perfume he had claimed they wore. She threw the animal a chiding look as she rode her horse along with the many carts and other riders back to camp.

"When do you think Lune will be arriving?" Edmund asked Peter as they dismounted near the dais they had been sitting on to receive the Narnians earlier that day. Looking up, he saw that his brother was staring off at something towards the hills.

"Actually," said Peter with a grin. "I think he's arriving as we speak."

Hurriedly, while the Calormenes and the Galmans were having their seating arranged under other pavilions nearby and were settling down into them, the Pevensies returned to their seats to await the delegation for Archenland. Unlike the wait for the people of Galma and Calormen, this one had no tension in the air, only merriment. King Lune had visited them often since their coronation and had made it very clear that he was their friend, both as King and as a fellow human being, and he had given them much advice that had proved useful to them. He was almost like family to the Pevensies, and they knew that though there were many things they were not sure of when ruling Narnia, betrayal from Archenland was not one of them.

King Lune rode in on his saddle looking rather dusty from the trip but with his characteristic jolly smile on his lips. He was a very plump man with golden hair that already had some lines of grey in it, and he wore a large hat with two feathers on it. For once, Witrow had nothing witty to say about this man, because like the other Talking Beasts he was nearly purring with joy at the sight of this friend of Narnia.

"My friends!" cried King Lune as he approached, followed by a large group of people dressed in deep reds and greens in the fashion of Archenland, and bearing the coat of arms of the country: a red cross against a golden background. He halted his horse many feet away from the dais and dismounted, bowing deeply as he always did. "It is such an honor to be before you once more, High King Peter, Queen Susan, King Edmund and Queen Lucy."

"It is we who are honored by your presence, King Lune," said Peter with a smile. "Long have you been our ally and our friend in times of trouble and difficulty. It seems only fitting that you join us during a time of merriment, so that we may enjoy the bounties our country has bestowed upon us."

"Aye, thy words bring me great joy, High King Peter," said King Lune. "And indeed all of us are looking forward to your festivities, the taste of good Narnian food and the pleasure of the company of our Narnian friends."

"What of your wife, Your Lordship?" asked Susan. "We were very much looking forward to seeing her. Or is she unfit to travel? For we received your news, and we must congratulate you once more on your future heir!"

King Lune shook his head mournfully. "My wife could not come, I am afraid," he said, but his grin widened. "But I have good news. The Lion has blessed our country, and my wonderful wife is not to bear me only one heir, but two!"

There was a moment of surprise and then much clapping and cheering from everyone who was listening. "A twofold blessing," said Peter, his smile even brighter than before. "Relay our congratulations and well-wishes to the Queen, for Narnia is eager to get to know the twins who shall inherit our sister country."

And so it was that all the foreign delegations had arrived, and there was much joy and celebration in the camp, even as King Lune presented the Kings and Queens with books as his gift. "I know they are not gifts of much glamour," he said. "But books are of much value, and knowledge is the greatest currency of the world." They thanked him profusely and he introduced the Knights who had come along with him to participate in the festivities: Lord Dar, Lord Darrin, Lord Paldin, Lord Bar, Lord Shar, and young Lord Cole, among others. Most of these were already familiar to the Narnians, for they had visited before.

As the Archenlanders were led to their tents and arrangements were made for everyone, Susan and Lucy took a moment to walk around the camp arm in arm. It wasn't often that they were able to do this, for they were usually pulled towards different activities, but at the moment it seemed they weren't needed. Aurelius, Dorick and Mr. Tumnus were making sure everything was in place, and Peter and Edmund were having a long discussion with representatives from every delegation and going of the tourney that would begin the following day; this was complicated, particularly since many of the knights were from different species and had different strengths and weaknesses, which would mean that an entirely new set of rules would have to be set for each species and be enforced carefully.

Lucy was glad in that moment that she understood little of tourneys, not having had the obligation to study it like her brothers, though she had initially felt somewhat left out because of that. Instead, she contented herself with walking around the tents with Susan and watching everyone scramble around carrying boxes and crates from all the newcomers, and making the preparations for dinner, which was to be held in a grassy spot near the center of the camp. She was hungry already.

The large Tree of Shields was nearly completed with the shields of the different knights representing their different countries. All the Narnian shields were there, and all the Galman as well. Some of the Calormene shields and most of the Archenlanders were missing, but that was sure to be righted by the end of the day. The large wooden structure was like a large colorful sign where all the different colors of the different countries came together.

"You really are excited, aren't you," said Susan with a grin as she stared at her little sister.

"Can you blame me?" asked Lucy with a giggle. "Just look at it!"

"I'm more excited about the people and the dancing than the actual fights," Susan admitted. "Though it might all get rather tiresome as time passes."

Lucy knew what Susan meant, though they would never speak out loud their concerns until they were safely within the walls of the palace. They should not be overheard speaking ill of the monarchs of other countries, but the Galman King had shown that he wouldn't be someone very easy to deal with. They would find a way, though, Lucy thought. They always did; especially Peter, who always seemed to find energy for anything having to do with ruling.

"Oh! Lucy!"

She turned her head to look to where her sister was looking, and immediately saw what had surprised Susan. Trees had appeared surrounding the entire northern side of the camp where they were walking, their branches reaching upwards and their roots settled in the grass as if they had been there forever. But Lucy knew that these were new arrivals. The Dryads and Hamadryads would never announce their arrival or present themselves before the Kings and Queens; it wasn't their way. But here they were, and even as they watched they saw the goddess Pomona appear, her hands bearing sweet fruits as she left the branches of her Tree.

"My Queens," she said in her soft melodious voice, which both seemed sweet and deep at the same time, as if it came from the roots of the tree itself. Susan and Lucy found a fruit in each of their hands, and sampled the savory flesh of Pomona's gifts, knowing that Pomona would view this as the ultimate courtesy.

"Welcome, Lady Pomona," Susan said after her first bite. "We thank you kindly for the gifts."

"My people are at your service, as always, Queen Susan and Queen Lucy," said the goddess, before retreating into the shadows of the trees once more. All around them the leaves shifted though there was no wind, and as they turned away Lucy felt like she was seeing young people dancing among the tree trunks out of the corner of her eye. She didn't turn to look at them. Dryads enjoyed their privacy.

...

The first tournament began with the sound of trumpets and a loud cheer that shook the earth with its enthusiasm. Lucy suspected it had something to do with the fact that actual trees were part of the audience.

The main tiltyard had been set up perfectly; though there had been much anxiety among the moles and the larger Talking Beasts about it being sturdy enough to carry the amount of people that was necessary, soon the seating proved to be working perfectly and the different delegations were seated in their own sections, marked by large banners displaying their colors. There was much cheering, and even most of the Calormene slaves had been allowed to watch the tournament and cheer along with the rest as the knights from various countries paraded around the arena displaying their skill.

First came the knights of Archenland with their long colorful capes over silver armor and fair faces, then the knights of Calormen with their scimitars and large stallions, then the knights of Galma with their richly embroidered capes and dusty armor, and last came the knights of Narnia.

Lord Peridan (upon the Talking Horse Rheeph), Oreius and Sarius (both centaurs), Foggy (a rather sleepy bear, but very good when it came to boxing), Inckarik (the only Dwarf they had ever seen who would ride a charger with unbridled -not literally- enthusiasm) and Lord Galen (one of the few human Narnians, who although rather shy, was an extremely able rider and fighter, and rode upon the Talking Horse Frowe) were the knights who rode. Behind them came Ekhar and Ampel, two satyrs, and Revan, the strongest Faun Narnia had ever seen. Both Peter and Edmund had expressed wishes to participate, but were advised against taking part in the actual tournaments: their political presence was too important to risk harm or disgrace on the arena.

"I hope none of them get hurt during the tournament!" Lucy heard Susan exclaim. "They do seem awfully strong."

"Oh, loosen up, Susan," Edmund said to her as he stood up to cheer for Oreius, who was now galloping within the circles the stands had formed. "It's all in good fun."

Lucy smiled as the Narnians finished their rounds around the arena. Susan was always so worried about everyone.

Beside her, Mr. Tumnus offered her a bowl of grapes even as he popped one into his mouth. She smiled and grabbed one as well, enjoying the delectable taste of the fruits the dryads had provided; it seemed to her even better than the food they enjoyed daily in Cair Paravel. She sat down once more and turned to look at the Faun beside her with a bright smile.

"Enjoying yourself, Lucy?"

Mr. Tumnus was the only person aside from the Pevensies in Narnia who called Lucy by her name. It was at her own request that he did this. Though officially their subject at court, Mr. Tumnus was the closest friend they had, perhaps because he had been the reason they had all ended up in Narnia in the first place. There was a strong bond that held them together, and even more so with Lucy.

"Yes I am," she said happily. "I still think you should have participated."

He laughed. "Oh, I know I expressed an interest at the time, but it was merely a fancy of mine. You know me; I am more of a scholar than I am a warrior. I enjoy books and good food too much to occupy much time in exerting myself to train."

She grabbed another grape. "I might have participated if such a thing were allowed. I'm sure that if any of us four could participate we would have changed those rules that say women can't fight." She shook her head. "Perhaps next time."

"The Calormenes look somewhat uneasy," Mr. Tumnus remarked with amusement.

Lucy searched the crowd across from them and spotted many Calormenes glancing at the satyrs with more than a little apprehension. "One of them nearly ran away from me earlier today when I was asking them if they needed any help," said the Faun with a chuckle. "It might take them some time to grow accustomed to us Narnians."

She grinned. "Very little, I think. They shall get over it once they see how much more exciting it makes everything."

The Narnians had been the last to present themselves for the review of the knights, and a small bell rang to announce a break while the arena was set up for the first major tournament of the day: a jousting. A cheer went up in the crowd as the people got more comfortable in their seats and dwarves, rabbits and dryads walked around serving drinks and snacks to everyone.

"Speaking of excitement," Mr. Tumnus murmured. "I can see who certainly seems in need of it."

Lucy followed his gaze towards the Galman side of the stands and recognized the young Galman Prince as he stood looking almost mournful despite his rich clothes, which he seemed to have had beneath the armor he had worn when he had been riding with the knights, for apparently he was one of them. His riding had been acceptable, but he seemed rather uncomfortable on the saddle and unsure when raising his sword. At the moment, his hair seemed a bit disheveled and his expression showed that he would rather be anywhere but there. Even as they looked, he turned away and moved towards the small flight of steps that led off the stands.

Lucy felt a stab of pity for him. "Let's follow him."

Mr. Tumnus looked at her as if she was mad, though the expression was laced with amusement. "We cannot follow him, Lucy!"

She laughed loudly and covered her mouth to try and remain silent. "I do not mean stalk him! I meant we ought to follow him and try to become friends. He seems like he could use it."

Cadoc was easy to follow; he moved slowly and mournfully through the crowds towards the back of one of the large tents that had been set up further from the frequented paths everyone seemed to follow. They found him sitting on a log there, his chin on his hands as he stared into space with a somber expression.

Lucy swiftly turned and took the bowl of grapes from Mr. Tumnus. She walked up to the Prince of Galma.

"Grapes?"

He glanced up quickly and shook his head. "No thanks." Then he did a double take and was soon on his feet making many bows. "I- I'm sorry Your Majesty, I- I was-"

Lucy laughed. "Do not worry! It is perfectly fine. And you may call me Lucy; you are among friends."

Cadoc cleared his throat and coughed, and then cleared his throat again. "I apologize for being away from the festivities, I simply…" he trailed away, his eyes rather wide.

Lucy shook her head and joined the Prince on the log, patting the space on her other side to invite Mr. Tumnus, who joined them as well. "It's perfectly fine," she said with a kind smile. "I am away from the festivities as well, after all! This is my good friend Mr. Tumnus."

The Faun bowed his head towards Cadoc, who bowed his head back rather nervously, his eyes flitting down to Mr. Tumnus' hooves.

"Yes, he is a Faun," said Lucy, reading his mind. "It's a bit surprising for foreigners, we understand. How old are you, Prince Cadoc?"

"Oh, it's just Cadoc," said the Prince rather meekly. "I am just fifteen, Your Majesty."

Lucy giggled and he looked up at her nervously. She shook her head. "Sorry, Cadoc, it's just funny how often people seem to forget how very young I truly am. Out of the four of us, it is my brother's age that you are closest to."

"King Edmund?"

"Why, no," she said, her eyes dancing. "The High King Peter."

Not even Mr. Tumnus could help a low chuckle at the look of astonishment on the Galman Prince's face. "But- but he's the High King! How can- I- he-" he stammered.

"It's quite all right, Cadoc," Lucy said with a smile, for he seemed rather concerned once his initial astonishment had worn off. "My brother does tend to make people think he is much older."

"No it is not all right!" he exclaimed, and promptly gasped at his outburst and gave an awkward bow. "I am so sorry, Your Majesty. What I mean to say is… it just makes things even worse…!"

Lucy was instantly concerned. "What is it? What's wrong?"

He sighed and looked at his hands. "It's… it's my father," he muttered. "He expects me to fight at least once during the tournament and he expects me to win. I did not even want to compete, but he says that because I am the Prince I must make our country proud…. and that all I have done so far in my life is be an embarrassment to him and to Galma."

Mr. Tumnus met her gaze over Cadoc's head, and they shared a concerned look before Lucy spoke in a gentle voice. "I'm sure that is not true."

"But it is," said Cadoc, sounding frustrated. "I cannot fight, I am absolutely terrible at speaking in public, and I am awfully clumsy. And I am supposed to be King someday! It is no wonder my father is ashamed of me." He sighed. "He hopes that I will make him proud during the tournament but I honestly don't know how I am going to win."

"You are probably just nervous, though," Lucy said kindly. "Maybe you just need to work on your confidence."

Cadoc shook his head slowly. "It's not just that. I know I am not the most confident person in the world, but I honestly do not have the talent it takes. I have trained and trained but I just… I cannot do it. I don't like it, either." He put his head in his hands. "I don't know what I am going to do."

There was a moment of silence, and then Mr. Tumnus spoke. "Well, perhaps the King will notice the effort you put into the fights, my Lord? There are many friends here that will be happy to aid you in practicing. But it is not only the kind of work you have listed that is involved in the tasks of being a Prince, or being a King."

Cadoc sighed once more. "My father does not see it that way."

/

The Pevensies met for dinner at noon in one of the large tents that had been prepared for them, sometime after the first few rounds of jousting which had resulted in one Narnian victory and two Calormen ones. The tent was the largest of the three, and the flaps on its sides had been raised to let the sunlight in. Dryads were serving them large dishes of pork and baked vegetables on a low table between some couches. The Fauns were playing their music somewhere nearby, and the merry tune floated into the tent pleasantly.

But despite their outward calm and joyful demeanor, both Edmund and Peter were thoroughly exhausted and somewhat irritated.

"If someone gives me a false compliment through their teeth one more time," Peter muttered as they entered the tent. "I swear I might just make them lose those teeth."

Edmund grinned, though he couldn't help but agree. All the newcomers seemed ridiculously eager to impress them; the Calormenes took every opportunity to compliment their surroundings with quotes from "The poets", the Galmans would constantly compliment their persons in an attempt to mask the snide remarks they had a tendency to make, and the Archenlanders, though meaning well, sometimes could be overwhelming with their attempts to assert Archenland's strong friendship with Narnia. All in all, it was beginning to be tiring.

Therefore, they were not so pleased when they discovered that Lord Paldin, who was, as it turned out, a cousin of Lord Peridan, had requested to have dinner with them in representation of his House.

"Lord Paldin is the son of the man who rules one of the richest and most powerful Houses of Archenland," Peridan told Edmund, somewhat apologetically, when called to them as they considered the request. "It would benefit Your Majesties greatly to strengthen your friendship with his House, as the alliance might prove useful to Narnia in moments of need."

Edmund glanced at his siblings as they sat near him on the couches. They all looked at Peter. Peter gave a slight shrug as his fingers played with the silver fork which they could tell he was yearning to use. "I suppose we ought to," he said in a low voice. "This is one of the reasons for why we are hosting the Festival, after all. Let your cousin know he is welcome to join us."

Peridan left them and the four of them glanced at each other in silence for a moment, before digging in to the meal before them. It was delicious, and they were extremely hungry. Edmund waved a hand after the first few bites.

"Remember, we've got to eat slowly or we'll be done with the meal by the time Paldin gets here."

They sighed and tried to eat more slowly.

"Honestly," said Peter, after swallowing a mouthful of chicken. "I'm just relieved everything has finally been set in place."

They were abruptly interrupted by Witrow, who informed them that the delegation of Bears that had come from further up North were rather offended about how distant their tents were, given that Foggy was fighting in the tourney and all the other knights apparently were nearer to the center of the campsite. It was Susan who tackled the issue quickly, and actually managed to solve the problem by offering them compensation in the form of a place as marshal of the lists during the melee combats that were carried out with Narnians as participants, before Lord Paldin made his way to their tent, entering with a low bow, escorted by Peridan.

"Your Majesties, it is an honor," said Paldin. He actually seemed quite a pleasant man; a fact Edmund was very glad of, because it might help make the dinner lighter in mood despite the politics that would be involved.

"The honor is ours, Lord Paldin," said Susan politely, gesturing towards a chair that had been brought to the table. "Please make yourself at home. And my Lord Peridan, please do us the honor of joining us as well, your presence is most welcomed at our table."

With a smile and a bow, Peridan joined them as well, and they began to fill their plates.

"We have heard many good things of your House, Lord Paldin," said Peter. "We were pleased to hear that it is located quite near to our borders."

"Indeed, Your Highness," said Lord Paldin with a pleased smile. He seemed almost nervous. It occurred to Edmund that perhaps this man had had orders to strike an alliance with them. He felt some pity; it was both amusing and rather depressing when a friendly conversation took place and neither party wanted to be there. "It is a lovely castle, set right between the last hills before Narnia begins. We are surrounded by the beauty of Archenland and Narnia; it is quite a thrilling mix."

A bottle of wine was opened and served, and Peter rose his glass. "Let us drink to the health of your House, Lord Paldin," he said. "May-"

His voice fell short as they heard what was unmistakably a scuffle outside. Through the openings on the sides of the tents, they could tell that the guards seemed to be arguing with someone. Edmund met Peter's gaze and saw a flicker of worry on his brother's face. But no sentries came to warn them, so Peter returned his eyes to the situation at hand.

"Forgive me," he said, clearing his throat. "May the Lion bless your family and your country just as He has blessed ours."

They all raised their glasses, and suddenly loud barking was heard and something came rushing into the tent at full speed, crashing into the table and upsetting the dishes with a loud smash, followed by two Fauns who had pulled out their swords. Lucy reached for her knife with surprising swiftness, and the Kings' hands moved to their swords, Peter standing up quickly.

"What is the meaning of this?" he cried, and his eyes met a shaking brown dog that barked loudly as he nearly stood on his hind legs on the table. The Fauns were rushing forward to pull the animal away.

"Do not drink the wine, Your Majesties! Do not drink the wine!" the dog barked loudly, his eyes wide with terror. "It is poison! You must not touch it!"

Lucy gasped and dropped the glass she had been rising to her lips only moments earlier. But the guards were already pulling the dog away.

"Nay, stop," said Peter, raising a hand. "What are you saying?"

The dog was shaking with fear, and his words escaped in one rushed breath in the manner of most dogs. "I am the hound with the best sense of smell in all of Narnia; Your Majesty may ask anyone. I am better at smelling than Moonwood The Hare was at hearing. And I am telling you, the wine is poisoned. It will kill those who drink from it!"

"How can you know?" Susan asked, but everyone turned as a loud noise was heard and Lord Paldin fell backwards onto the grass in his chair, shuddering and clutching his stomach.

"See, he has drunk from it already!" the dog cried fearfully.

Instantly, Peridan was on the ground beside the shivering man, pulling him up from the now broken chair and then moving out of the way as Paldin doubled over and vomited violently on the grass. His features were pale and bloodless, and his hands shook violently as he seemed to gasp for air, unable to speak.

"Quickly, take him to the healers!" Lucy exclaimed, pale as well.

"No," said Edmund, so sharply that all turned to look at him despite the direness of the situation.

"Are you mad?" Susan exclaimed. "He is-"

Edmund turned to the alarmed Fauns, who were at loss, not knowing which orders to follow. "No, bring the healers here, as fast as they can run."


	3. Chapter 3

"You were very lucky, Sire," said Dorick grimly, his long white beard jutting out as he sat on a stool near Peter's chair. They were in Peter and Edmund's tent that served as their quarters during the festival. "It was by a mere stroke of luck that one of the dogs smelled the bottle as it passed on its way to your tent." He seemed to suppress a shiver. "Things could have gone much worse."

"Yes, they could have," said Peter grimly. He found himself holding his sheathed sword on his lap and gripping it tightly. The carving of the Lion on the hilt seemed to stare at him with sorrowful eyes. "We are fortunate that Paldin drank so little of the wine, though the healers say it is not likely that he will be able to fight during the Festival." He groaned and put his head in his hands. "This is a political nightmare."

"It does not have to be, though," said King Lune in a low voice from where he sat opposite from Peter. His normally merry expression was clouded with concern, but there was kindness in his voice. "The situation is worrisome and potentially dangerous if not handled with care, but King Edmund made the right choice when he bade the healers to treat Paldin within the tent. The worst of his ailment was not seen by any other than Your Majesty's people, and therefore a potential outbreak of panic on our allies' part was averted."

"His House, however, is another matter," said Peter grimly.

"Thou mustn't worry about Archenland, my friend," said Lune. "Lord Paldin is a good man and will not hold Narnia responsible for the harm he has suffered. With careful words and skillful diplomacy, our alliances will hold and Narnia may emerge even stronger from this crisis. The true problem that thou facest at this time is another."

"I am aware of that, yes," said Peter grimly. "Someone has attempted to murder us and we do not know who it is."

"And there are more suspects to take into account, I am afraid," said Dorick, his voice lowered. "We may rule Archenland out, perhaps, but there are two other visiting nations surrounding us, and that is without considering the Narnians themselves… perhaps there are still remnants of the White Witch's army wandering about undetected."

"I doubt that they would have the organization to carry out such a well-planned strategy," Peter said. "We have killed the last of the Witch's generals and any who took part in her government. Those that we suspect remain are too fearful and weak to pose much of a threat, not even to village folk at this point."

Dorick took a long draw from his pipe, his eyes grave. "Poison is a coward's work," he said gruffly. "And in wine, in an encampment of such magnitude, with so many people coming and going… discovering a criminal would be nearly impossible."

"If I might make a suggestion," King Lune put in, and his tone was grave. "Though it is hard for me to say, I must insist that thou dost not rule out my people. Though I trust each and every one of them with my life, even a King has faults in his judgment, and I would not have thy trust in my choices stand as a barrier between Narnia and safety."

There was silence for a moment, and Peter nodded. "Very well, then. But if an investigation is to take place, it must be done with much care. I do not wish to alarm King Reghorius and the Calormene Princes. Should word come out that there is no safety in our realm, I shudder to think the consequences it might have, both on the Festival itself and on an international level." He stood up and strapped the sword to his belt once more. "Come, let us join the others."

Susan, Edmund and Lucy were waiting seated on a long table in the larger tent, along with the Galman King and both the Princes of Calormen. The mess from dinner had been cleared, and there were no signs of the disturbance the poison had caused. Lord Paldin had been moved to healers' tent, where the healers would care for him until his full recovery. The naiad that received Susan when she went to inquire about his state had explained that the symptoms he suffered of were consistent with Wolf's Bane poisoning, caused by the root of a plant that grew in many forests of Narnia.

The guards held open the flaps of the tent as Peter stepped in, followed by King Lune. He took a seat at the center of the table with his siblings on either side of him, and King Lune sat on one of the ends of the table.

"Your Lordships," Peter began. "It grieves me to strike council on such grave matters in a time meant for merriment and games, but circumstances have forced my hand, and my Royal Brother and Sisters and I shall attempt to lay to rest whatever questions Your Royal selves may have about what has come to pass during this day. I have heard that rumors have been circling as to the fate of our most esteemed Lord Paldin of Archenland, whom was sadly debilitated after consuming a substance we believe was harmful to his body. Our healers have assured us that he will fully recover in time, but regretfully he will not be able to continue participating in the tournaments. We are not sure how the substance made its way into our camp, but we assure you that we are taking careful measures to ensure that such a thing does not happen again."

"With your permission, High King," Prince Jarrash spoke up from his seat. "The land of Narnia is fair and full of enjoyment, and my kinsman and I have been quite charmed by the honor you have done us with the commodities you have provided. But I believe Your Majesty will understand when I humbly remark that it is worrisome for us to consider that a man was harmed within the confines of your very own household. Your Majesty surely has considered that this substance you speak of could only have reached the High King's table, which we know was shared by this ailing Lord you speak of, through unlawful means and with sinister intent?" His eyes glinted in the candlelight; it was dusk outside. "Assuredly it would have been easier for a criminal of this type to lay harm upon the man in his own household and not that of the Crowns of Narnia. Therefore the most logical conclusion, which I am sure Your Majesties Yourselves have come to, is that the poison was meant for you and not for the man who had the misfortune of drinking it."

There was silence around the table before Edmund spoke up.

"You are quite correct, Prince Jarrash," he said. "We have considered these possibilities and, like my Royal Brother has explained, begun to take measures to ensure there is no danger, if this is the case."

King Reghorius of Galma grunted from where he sat, a slight scowl hidden under his mustache. "I mean no disrespect, King Edmund," he said, meeting Edmund's gaze. "But it will take time and effort to discover the culprit of this murder attempt, should it prove to be such, and not an ill-fated mistake on the part of your people." The last remark was rather snide, and Edmund did his best to keep his eyes from hardening and the implication that the Narnians would be fools enough to put Wolf's Bane into their wine. "My concern is for the safety of all of us who are guests under your care. An attempt took place today; how can we be sure that tomorrow it shall not succeed? Higher security measures can do little to stop a faceless criminal, particularly if his target could be any of us. Indeed, many would benefit from murdering any person seated at this table. Shall we begin to distrust even the water we are given to drink?"

"We understand your concern," Susan said suddenly. "Truly, it is a valid point. When our security is compromised it is sensible to wonder what else it as stake. But I believe it is reasonable to think that, should the incident indeed have a sinister motive, the criminal is targeting myself, my Sister and my Brothers only. You have all enjoyed the entirety of your meals earlier today and nobody else suffered any harm. Surely, had the intent been to target multiple nations, the attempt would have been carried out all at once?"

"Sir, none of us are more alarmed by what has happened than ourselves. After all, we nearly died this afternoon." Edmund's voice was calm but serious.

"It has been heard of that the culprit harms his own first in order to escape the blame," said Reghorius in a low voice, but all heard him. There was a somber silence.

"I do not believe it is befitting of a high rank to blatantly imply treason at the table of a host," said Ishamiel Tarkaan in a quiet voice, yet one that communicated harsh offence.

King Reghorius clenched his teeth angrily, and the mood at the table darkened threateningly. But King Lune spoke up just in time.

"My friends, it is a particularly delicate situation, I am afraid," he said, his voice calm and friendly despite the tension that surrounded him. "Especially given the presence of monarchy from various nations. Let us not submit to blind fear or distrust in this moment, but rather consider the reality of the situation. This faceless criminal may be of Narnian origin, but also may very well be any of our own people. No amount of trust can ensure that there is not one in our party that secretly harbors treason, or hatred towards Narnia, and no one is at fault if such a thing has occurred other than the traitor himself. Rather, I believe we must work together to keep peace and harmony among our people and ensure that the Festival remains what it is meant to be: a friendly gathering of all countries, to share and learn from each other in joy and merriment."

His words seemed to diffuse the tense atmosphere, and Susan exhaled a quiet breath of relief. Most of the anger and suspicion had been erased from the faces of those present, and was replaced with thoughtful, if rather grim, looks.

"Thank you, King Lune," said Peter with a grateful smile. "Your words are most inspiring. It is also important to take into account that this may have been purely an isolated act, and that the culprit has left us already and run. The danger may very well be past us. I encourage us all to take part in the festivities and fear not; for like dumb beasts, criminals can smell fear and take advantage of it. All Kings and Queens have enemies; this has not stopped us from succeeding in our endeavors. Measures shall be taken, but the festivities will not be stopped." He turned to the King of Galma. "You and your family may eat and drink all you wish and have no fear."

...

"Are you sure, Peter?" Susan asked in a hushed voice as Edmund and Lucy walked away to explain to the guards the new security measures that would be taken. The meeting had been adjourned, and the Kings and Princes had left towards their tents, where supper would be served. The music outside had begun once more, and there was much laughter and merriment, contrasting with the somber expressions on Peter and Susan's faces as they spoke in the shadows of the large tent.

"Are we not giving the wrong message by retreating? The others might feel that we are placing them in between us and whatever danger exists."

"It is a risk we are going to have to take," Peter said grimly. "We cannot risk something happening to all four of us. By moving you and Lucy to the palace, we show that we are caring for your protection, and the others will see proof of our security being heightened. There might be better trust among our allies, and our enemy, if he is still here, might be discouraged from another attempt."

Susan sighed and glanced furtively around them before speaking again. "Do you really think there will be another?"

Peter clenched his jaw. "I'm hoping not, but part of me suspects that he will try again. If he had the means to reach us the first time, Aslan knows he has the means to do so a second."

"I will watch over Lucy," she murmured. "The garrison shall keep anything unwanted from entering the palace or accessing our meals, and I shall instruct our handmaidens to be watchful." She put a hand on Peter's arm as he stared off into space, a worried frown on his face. "We shall be fine, Peter. It is you I am concerned about."

"We cannot leave the Festival. To do so would be abandoning our own people and our guests. I can watch over Edmund, and Oreius already has his orders. Nothing will be left without inspection."

"I believe Edmund can care after himself," Susan said with a slight smile on her face. "He grows older by the day; his manner of conducting himself is truly worthy of respect."

Peter shook his head. "He's still young. Don't let his manner fool you."

"Not much younger than you and I," she said. "I think what happened... with the Witch... it has made him mature. Sometimes I feel he knows more than I do."

"It doesn't mean he doesn't need defending," said Peter. "He doesn't let on, but I know he still suffers. What happened took a toll on him, and not all of the effects were positive."

He held her gaze for a moment and then gave her a curt nod, walking away. Susan stood for a moment in the shadows and took a deep breath, gazing at the bright orange light that bounced off the trunks of the trees nearby and the sides of the tents, giving everything a golden glow. It seemed the dancing had begun; she could see the shadows of Fauns and dryads holding hands as they skipped around the clearing. The merry pipes and fiddles nearly drowned out the distant sound of the crashing waves, and something stirred in her heart. There was a kind of yearning that the Fauns created with every song they played: a mournful nostalgia, a joy born from things she had forgotten. It was music that made her laugh and dance, but deep in her heart, almost made her want to cry. "Joy and sadness are fruits from the same tree," an old Faun had once told her, long ago, the first time she had ever heard them play like this. "One must feel a little of both in order to be able to feel at all. To feel truly alive."

She sighed. The feeling was one she felt only Lucy could understand out of the four of them. There were many things in Narnia she had yet to comprehend, things that no amount of history lessons in Cair Paravel could explain, things she wondered if she would ever come to understand.

Turning, she looked in the opposite direction of that from where the music was coming. She could see the distant peaks of the mountains that stood between them and Archenland, a dark silhouette against the twilight sky. Perhaps whoever had poisoned the wine had long retreated in that direction; perhaps he was hiding in the forests, running towards whichever hole he had come from.

She heard footsteps and watched as three Tarkaans passed her, a few tents away. She couldn't remember their names. They didn't see her where she stood, but she caught the glimmer of the firelight on the points of the helmets that rose from under their colored turbans, and the glint of their dark eyes as they looked around them.

There were so many people in the Festival, it would be impossible to tell who might be a criminal. Maybe the choice to have it take place had been a mistake. Maybe Narnia wasn't ready for a crisis of this sort. There were too many things at stake.

"But when, then?" she murmured to herself. "Will we ever be ready?"

Susan sighed. They were literally surrounded by suspects, and somebody in the joyful occasion meant to murder all four of them. They were never truly safe. She didn't believe she ran the risk of anyone sneaking up to them from behind and slitting their throats, but if they had begun at poison, no one knew how sly they might become. All they could do was trust their own judgment and hope for the best. Aslan's blessings would protect them… or so she hoped.

Looking around her, she caught sight of two centaurs standing silently nearby. She realized they were meant to guard her. They were subtle and if it were possible for a centaur to go unnoticed, they would. She hoped Oreius' defenses would hold.

...

The crowd erupted in cheers as the knights entered the lists, wielding swords and shields with their coat of arms emblazoned upon them. Archenland and Calormen were going to meet in a melee fight, with three knights on either side. The banners of both countries had been raised up on either side of the roped area, depicting Tash and the cross respectively. On these ends were the galleries of each kingdom: King Lune sat laughing in seat, cheerfully talking and sharing flagons of mead with a Talking Bear with whom he seemed to have become friends. All around him the delegation that had come with him from Anvard cheered and waved their colors in flags and ribbons, and many of the Narnians and Galmans had joined in that side of the crowd.

On the opposite end sat Prince Jarrash, his golden turban shining like true gold as he sipped his wine, a small smile on his bearded face as he conversed with Alimash Tarkaan, who had won the jousting match earlier that day and was now sitting beside the Crown Prince. Ishamiel Tarkaan also sat near his half brother, but seemed more immersed in enjoying his surroundings than striking conversation with anybody. Even the Calormenes, who had initially seemed extremely suspicious of any Narnians, seemed to have made some friends, as a Dwarf or two and a few dryads could be seen speaking to both the Tarkaans and the slaves, who were positioned lower on the gallery, yet were the loudest of all when cheering. Only those who were serving their masters were silent and subdued. The other servants who had come in their ship waved flags in the air and shouted phrases in the old Calormene Tongue to applaud their knights. Even Lord Bar, absent from the Archenland gallery, seemed to be present among the Calormenes, nearly hidden by the mass of people.

Between both parties, on opposite sides, were the Galman delegation and most of the Narnians. King Reghorius looked slightly drunk, and therefore seemed more pleasant than usual, laughing and making loud remarks to his wife, who sat meekly at his side, her eyes downcast. The Galmans were not all present, some of them having elected to participate in other activities outside of the tiltyard, but those who wished to watch, or were obliged to watch out of respect, sat mostly cheerful, sharing drinks and making bets among each other.

On the Narnian side, Peter and Susan sat watching the knights in the lists, eating fruit from yet another dish that the Trees had offered them. Around them, many creatures laughed and made bets, arguing over which knights were the most skillful and who was most likely to win. Some of the Fauns had even attempted to bring in more music, but they were swiftly hushed, as it was not the right moment to entertain. Edmund had left earlier to join in a chess tournament, and Lucy could be found walking arm in arm with Prince Cadoc of Galma and Mr. Tumnus, occasionally joined by a dryad or two, cheering for both sides.

Lord Dar, Lord Darrin and Lord Cole represented Archenland. Dar and Darrin were not twins, but they certainly looked as if they were, their faces stern and determined as they drew their swords and pulled down their helmet visors. Beside them, Cole, the youngest knight, gave a fierce grin as he did the same.

On the opposing side stood Ilgamuth Tarkaan, Khalid Tarkaan and Masud Tarkaan, wearing blue turbans and long scimitars, which they drew in unison. Ilgamuth, vulgarly known as Ilgamuth of the Twisted Lip, though no one knew the reason for the scar that crossed his features, bared his teeth as they faced the others. Khalid was the heaviest of them all, his arms and chest large and muscular, while Masud was the eldest and thinnest, yet his skill was noticeable from the moment his blade was drawn. The Calormene did not use visors on their helmets, but after the prowess they had demonstrated in earlier matches, nobody doubted that both parties were on equal footing.

Combat began with a clash of swords, and battle cries from the knights, nearly drowned out by the cheers from the spectators around them. Ilgamuth quickly pushed Dar against the edge of the lists, his sword striking mercilessly here and there until all Dar was able to do was defend himself against the attack. But Cole's youth and speedy footing protected him from Masud's skillful swordsmanship, and he managed to dodge every blow, quickly retaliating with well planned strikes. Khalid and Darrin seemed evenly matched as the fight began, but it quickly became obvious that Darrin would not be able to hold off the Tarkaan much longer. The Archenlanders cheered and shouted advice to their knights, while the Calormenes did the same, though with considerably more glee as they realized their men were at an advantage.

But Dar seemed to have a plan, even as he warded off Khalid's blows and attempted to strike back viciously. He jumped backwards until he was well positioned between the other two fighting pairs, and he yelled out something to Cole which was drowned out for the ears of the spectators by the cheering on either side. But Cole seemed to understand, and soon both knights were back to back as they warded off their opponents. And in a blink of an eye, they turned and switched, even as their opponents mustered the force to bring down their swords.

With a clash of metal, Archenland was leading. Dar fought Masud fiercely, blocking the Tarkaan's every move and forcing the man back against the ropes that marked the lists, drawing near to his brother, who was struggling to keep his shield up against Ilgamuth, who had managed to hit his sword against his shoulder, which thankfully merely bounced off the armor. On the opposite end of the lists, Cole was no match for Khalid, who was much too heavy to keep up with the young knight's speed and quickly became overwhelmed, barely blocking his blows until, barely two minutes later, he kneeled defeated before the Archenland knight. The stands erupted in cheers and the frantic waving of the Archenland flag, as Cole rushed to his fellow knights' aid.

But Darrin could only ward off the attack for so long, and Cole was too late. Ilgamuth gave a small, twisted grin as he overtook his opponent, forcing Darrin to stumble and fall against the ropes, eliciting gleeful shouts from the Calormene side as Archenland lost their first knight, leaving both sides evenly matched once more. The Narnians were beside themselves with excitement, unsure as to who was going to win.

Ilgamuth turned to Cole and they were soon at each other, their swords clashing against each other's shields as they moved quickly, ducking and parrying. Dar hit Masud's arm, his sword bouncing off the Tarkaan's mail but weakening his grip, and Masud's shield was inadvertently lowered; taking advantage of this, Dar quickly disarmed Masud and with a few quick strikes, ensured Archenland's victory as Masud was forced to leave the fight. Skillful and fierce as he was, Ilgamuth knew when he was outnumbered, and though he tried his best to keep up with both Cole and Dar, there was only so much he could do. Even so, Ilgamuth Tarkaan managed to draw the fight out an additional five minutes, which was incredibly impressive given the fact that he was fighting two skilled knights at once. When he finally yielded, the round of applause and cheers were truly meant for both Archenland and Ilgamuth Tarkaan's skill on the field. Peter secretly hoped it would never come to a war with Calormen; a few more men like Ilgamuth and he wasn't sure if they would be able to win.

Narnia faced Archenland later that day in melee combat, Peridan, Inckarik and Ekhar narrowly managing to defeat the Archenland knights, though one-on-one combat followed and Sarius lost dismally to Ishamiel Tarkaan, whose skill with the blade was almost frightening. A joust followed, with Lord Galen of Narnia triumphing over Lord Bar of Archenland, which drew the more important fights of the day to a close. Yet an archery contest took place, and a Dwarf was declared champion of chess for the day, which brought much pride (and beer) to the dwarves of his clan.

By the time it was nearing supper hour and the sky was slowly darkening, Lucy was exhausted from all the walking and laughing. Mr. Tumnus had gone to meet with some of his friends, and she was having her windswept hair braided by her dryad handmaiden, Klaia, sitting on some chairs by an abandoned table where some badgers had been playing with dice earlier that day.

She smiled as she smelled the smoke of lamb being roasted somewhere nearby, and listened to the sounds of many people speaking amongst each other near the tents a bit farther off. She smoothed her deep red dress; it was in a surprisingly good state, given that she had roamed near almost the entire camp earlier. Cadoc had proven a very pleasant and friendly companion, and actually quite amusingly humorous when he felt comfortable enough. She hoped the fun that they had had during the day would be enough to clear the young Prince's mind from his worries regarding his father.

Lucy couldn't help but smile with amusement at the thought of her mother's face if she could see them where they were now: Kings and Queens of an entire nation. Would her mother believe them if they told her? Most probably not.

She felt the familiar sadness in her heart and quickly turned her thoughts to more cheerful matters. Though she felt Narnia was her home and had never felt otherwise, she knew there was a part of her that still remembered the feelings of that old life. And those feelings could turn painful if she lingered in them too much.

Klaia's soft fingers were halfway done with braiding Lucy's hair when a kingfisher suddenly appeared, flapping its wings wildly as it landed on the table near them.

"Queen Lucy!" it cried frantically. "Forgive me, but we need your help!"

"What is it?" she exclaimed in concern. Klaia stopped braiding.

The poor little kingfisher seemed to have been flying as fast as it could, and it was very nearly out of breath. "There… there is a hare running this way, Your Majesty," it said. "It looks terribly ill and I am afraid it might die of exhaustion before reaching the camp!"

Instantly Lucy was on her feet, her half-braided hair cascading down her back. "Show me," she said, and with Klaia following closely behind, they ran after the flying bird. Lucy heard the noise of galloping hooves and turned her head to see a centaur and Witrow following closely behind; they must have been the guards assigned to protect her.

They soon reached the edge of the camp, where the only noise that could be heard was the faint murmur of distant activity from the tents beyond. Before her, Lucy could see the road stretching back over the hills towards the rest of Narnia, and the trees that reached out on either side. The little bird was flying ahead of them towards the top of the hill, where the cluster of trees grew thicker.

"Hurry, Your Majesty!" it cried.

Lucy moved to follow it and suddenly felt a hand on her arm hold her back.

"Nay, Your Highness should remain here," said the centaur's rumbling voice. "It could be anything."

"Somebody is injured!" she pleaded. "I must go help them!"

"Forgive me, my Queen, but I cannot allow that. I shall go ahead and retrieve them and I request that you remain here with the leopard, where you may be safe."

Lucy bit back a growl of frustration. He was right; as helpless as it made her feel, her responsibility was with her country and she could not disregard her brother's orders, especially not after what had happened.

She gave a resigned nod, and the centaur took off at a gallop towards the top of the hill. Beside her, Witrow's ears were pressed flat against his head, his greenish brown eyes wide and watchful.

"Oh dear, I hope it isn't too hurt," Lucy said helplessly. "I cannot spare another drop of my cordial, but it breaks my heart to deny it to someone… I wonder what happened; why was it running this way?"

"Perhaps it was a part of the festival and got lost," said Klaia softly. "That is, if it is a young hare. If not, perhaps it is being pursued by something."

"I don't trust those blue birds," Witrow growled from where he crouched. "Flighty little things. Should know to take up the issue with the Guard and not with the Queen; especially given the circumstances."

Lucy held back a smile. It seemed that Witrow didn't trust anyone but his own kind, and even then, she had doubts he might be comfortable. But another idea hit her, and her eyes widened with fear. "Witrow, what if it is a trap?"

The large cat's eyes flitted to hers before this ears moved, pointing to the direction in which the centaur had disappeared. "There's no sound of a struggle, Your Majesty," he said. "And no centaur would go down without a fight."

Lucy was pale. "Perhaps we ought to fetch my brothers," she said. "Klaia-"

But she stopped speaking as the centaur's figure appeared, dark against the sunset, riding down the side of the hill. There was something small cradled in his arms. No sword was drawn, and the kingfisher was flying above his large head, looping in large circles, twittering wildly.

Lucy couldn't help running forwards to meet the centaur on the path, reaching out to look at the bundle he held in his arms.

"The bird was right," said the centaur in his rumbling voice. "It's a young hare, fainted on the side of the road just as I reached him."

He knelt as she stood on tiptoes to see the Talking Animal. Its ears and paws were covered in scratches and cuts, and its fur was matted with mud, leaves and pieces of grass. Lucy thought she could see a thorn stuck painfully into its forepaw. Its eyes were closed, and it barely seemed to breathe at all.


	4. Chapter 4

The four of them met for supper in Peter and Edmund's tent. Lucy and Susan were then to be escorted back to the Cair until the next morning.

"The hare is not likely to wake until tomorrow morning," said Lucy as she ate the last few spoonfuls of her meal.

"He probably just got a fright," Edmund replied. "I just hope no rumors have been circling within the camp."

"I am sure there have been," said Susan. "But there are rumors all the time. I fear less the reaction of our people than I do the fact that we know nothing yet of our murderous enemy."

There was silence as they all finished supper, broken only by the sound of crickets in the grass outside and occasional footsteps passing. The two centaurs standing guard outside were noiseless, but Edmund could see their shadows thrown against the wall of the tent.

Peter shook his head slightly as he set his spoon down on the table. "There is no clue as to who is the culprit. The casket from which the poisoned bottle was taken was positioned among many others, all of which had been opened yesterday morning for inspection. The dog we were so fortunate to have warn us explored the site in an attempt to catch the scent of the culprit, but the amount of people who have been circulating the area is too high and it was impossible to pick out a single scent from it. The dryad who served it was overtaken with grief at the thought that she may have been responsible for our deaths if things had not gone the way they did, but she had entered that tent for the very first time that day, only having arrived at the Festival yesterday morning. The Goddess Pomona has vouched for her." He sighed. "It is strange. This does not seem to me the work of those who acted in the name of the Witch. It is sly, it is calculated and subtle, and they seem to have allies within the festival."

"It is not our own that worry me the most," said Susan, lowering her voice so that only her siblings would hear her. "I do not fear treason from Archenland, nor do I believe Galma or Calormen would be so bold as to strike at us in this manner, at this time, while they sleep on our land. But every country has its own criminals, and there are more personal feuds that can have equally fatal consequences."

"To strike on the very first day, though?" Lucy sounded skeptical. Her expression was more serious than Edmund remembered seeing it in a long time. "I would have thought they would wish to ensure a passage back home and not risk more opportunities to be caught."

"Perhaps it gives space for further attempts?"

"A single man does not think in this way," said Peter, leaning back in his seat. "Lucy is right. The strategy, the timing… it does not make any sense."

"Well, the drinks are now thoroughly inspected before being served, and so is the food. It will be very hard to fool Talking Beasts. Our guards are keeping close watch on the tents, and the girls will be moving to the Cair during the nights. I do not believe there is much more we  _can_  do," said Edmund.

"A coward's work, said Dorick," Peter murmured.

Lucy smiled. "Then with the Guard at our heels nearly every moment, I doubt there is yet any danger." She turned to Susan. "Come, sister. A long day awaits us tomorrow, and the dwarves of the Hill Caves have promised us warm bread for breakfast if we rise early enough!"

They departed with hugs and smiles despite the weightiness of their previous conversation. As Susan and Lucy left through the flaps of the tent and they heard the guards assigned to escort them back to the safety of the palace approach, a Faun entered and took the trays of dishes they had left behind. The Kings began to remove their clothes before bed.

Edmund felt exhausted. Though he himself hadn't participated in any of the tourneys, the mental stress of constant awareness of what happened around them and the prolonged concentration that the chess matches he had partaken in during the day had left him feeling weak and drained. His belt slid to the floor off the chair from which he had hung it, and he couldn't bring himself to bend down to pick it up. Instead, he pulled the blankets off the cot that had been set out for him and was soon buried under the crisp sheets, feeling as if his entire body was sinking into the mattress beneath him.

Somewhere, in a forest, he was running. He had left his horse behind him, or had his horse abandoned him? It had been a terrible idea, seeing as he was trying to escape. And as hard as he tried, he couldn't seem to run fast enough. Roots seemed to rise up from the ground at his very feet, seeking to trip him, and searching branches reached out like cruel arms that wished to strangle him. There was a bright light ahead, cold and white. He needed to reach the light. He needed to save himself.

He thought he heard Peter yell. He couldn't see a thing in the dark forest. But somebody was yelling, and it sounded like Peter. Or was it Susan? Lucy? There were voices he couldn't make out. They were coming from ahead of him; they must be searching for him. Perhaps they thought he was dead. He needed to let them know he was alive, that they needed to keep running. The light would save them.

He couldn't see anything behind him, but he could hear them. He could hear their harsh breaths at his back, chasing him through the trees. What had happened to the trees? They seemed dead. They looked like stone.

The light was so near now, he was almost upon it. The screams had grown louder. Where were they? He tried to call back but his voice was gone, as if it was a candle and somebody had suddenly blown out the light. How could he let them know? He was being chased. They needed to run. The light was so close…

And then he was inside the light, surrounded by it, blinded by it. His feet were stepping on rubble instead of tree roots. There was a shape ahead of him. Was it a lantern? He hadn't seen a lantern in a long time.

"I've missed you, Edmund." Her voice was soft, but it chilled him to the bones.  _Not you. Not you again._  He wanted to scream, to tell her he was not the person she was looking for, but his voice was gone. "Come home, Edmund. I've been keeping a throne for you, little King… a throne here, at my side."

He needed to escape. He tried to run, his feet stumbling over the rubble, but he suddenly realized he was running towards her. The figure in the light grew closer, and he could make out the outline of the sharp blades of her ice crown, could feel the stabbing pain of her soulless eyes digging into his heart. He cried in pain and looked away.

Looked down. His hands were covered in blood.

A silent scream seemed to rip his throat out. Whose blood was it? He had a terrible, terrible feeling it wasn't his. He gave a step and stumbled against a rock, falling onto the cold rubble. Rushing to get back on his feet, he raised his bruised face and found himself looking at it.

It wasn't a rock. It was Peter's face, frozen into stone, a scream of agony on his dead face.

Terror and grief washed over him and the cold, cold wind suddenly blew against his face, freezing him to stone as well.

His eyes flew open.

He hadn't had a nightmare about  _her_  in ages.

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the imagery. He supposed it had something to do with their suspicions about the White Witch's creature being behind the poisoning. Unlike other times he had had nightmares, this time he had not awoken sitting and shouting, sweat pouring down his body. This time he had been quiet, and he still had his back to the wall of the tent, the sheets drawn up to his face mostly obscuring his view.

It had all seemed so  _real_. He could almost still feel the chill of the cold wind against his face.

He took deep breaths and tried to focus on reality. It was only a nightmare. He could hear Peter's soft breathing from across the tent on the other cot. Outside, the crickets chirped and the wind blew against the side of the tent. He could hear the soft clink of metal on the ground nearby.

His eyes flew open again and focused on the shadow of the sheets partly covering his face. He could almost still feel the chill of the cold wind against his face.

Cold wind… like the wind that would enter a tent if the flap had been opened for a moment, in the depths of the night.

The noise of clinking metal from a foot mistakenly hitting the belt he had neglected on the ground.

The thoughts connected in his mind in an instant, and his fingers closed around the hilt of his sword, hidden under his pillow.

He sprang out of his bed with a cry, his sword connecting with a clash of metal against metal. The moonlight barely filtered through the walls of the tent, but it was enough to bounce off the metal and the eyes of his shadowed enemy, whose long dagger parried his attacks and pressed onwards, aiming for the kill.

A rustling sound warned him that there were more people in the tent, but his cry had awoken Peter, who had instinctually drawn his sword and was now struggling against two other figures. Edmund felt blind in the darkness, barely being able to make out his enemy's outline, not much taller than him but very strong as he tried to trap him in a corner of the tent. But Edmund had the advantage of knowing the tent better than him. He took the opportunity to reach sideways and grab one of Peter's knives from where it hung on the corner of his brother's bed, and then he threw the first other thing his fingers came in contact with, in this case a pillow, towards his adversary's face.

As the other one stumbled back, taken by surprise, he stabbed the side of the tent with the knife, pulling it as he ran forwards to let the light in through the slit in the wall. He heard Peter's labored grunts and the crash of metal as the light fell right across his enemy's eyes, and Edmund took the opportunity to sink his sword deep in his foe's chest with a sickening sound.

But Edmund did not linger. He sprang to the other side of the tent, driving back one of the two others who Peter had managed to fend off. He saw a shadow fall across through the slit in the wall and heard a voice behind him which he recognized: Aurelius.

"Find the Queens," he grunted as he ducked an attack. He heard the centaur hesitate and then leave the tent, Edmund driving forwards, pushing his enemy out through the tent flap, kicking at its legs. Even as they stepped out into the moonlight it became obvious that his opponent was much shorter than he was.

Behind him, he heard a crash of wood and then a faint cry before Peter ran out of the tent. Edmund was standing in the middle of the grass, pulling his sword out of someone's stomach, blood spattered on his bare chest and his features drawn and pale.

The creature struggling at Edmund's feet was a Dwarf; his dark hair dirty and matted, his eyes wild and crazed, his hands clenched as he coughed and blood poured from between his lips.

"Who do you work for?" Edmund growled, pointing his sword at the Dwarf's throat. "Who sent you?"

The Dwarf laughed. It was a disgusting, gurgling, dying sound. "I'm already going to die, traitor," he rasped. "There's no threat in pointing a sword at me."

"I can make it more painful," Edmund hissed, his eyes glinting darkly. The Dwarf reminded him of Ginarrbrik.

The Dwarf gave a grunt, and suddenly his hands reached down into his shirt and he had pulled out a blade. Edmund moved to knock it out of his fingers, but the blade had already sunk into the Dwarf's chest viciously, killing him instantly, his grimy fingers still clutching the hilt.

Edmund stood frozen in his place, sword still raised, his chest heaving. Slowly, he looked up and met his brother's gaze. Peter was also shirtless, clutching his upper arm with one hand, his sword already sheathed. Blood seeped out between his fingers.

"I'm okay," Peter said in a low voice, though he looked pained. "It isn't deep." His eyes flitted down to the dead Dwarf. "Well, that was…" He didn't seem to know what to say.

Edmund swallowed and then opened his mouth to speak. But he was interrupted by the sound of hooves as Aurelius returned with Oreius at his side. Both their swords were bloody.

"There were two more," Oreius said in a low voice as they drew near. "I have people cleaning up the mess as we speak. There doesn't seem to have been much damage anywhere else. No other tents were touched. Are you all right, Sire?"

"And my sisters?" Peter asked, ignoring his general's question, his face pale.

"As far as we know, completely safe. But we sent an eagle to make sure. He should be returning shortly. Ah, here he is."

The eagle landed on the grass speedily. "The Queens are well and sleeping safely in their beds."

"You are absolutely sure?" Peter insisted.

The eagle nodded. "Yes, Sire. Their handmaidens entered the room and checked in person."

Peter let out the breath he seemed to have been holding in.

"Sire," said Oreius to Peter. "You must bind your wound."

The High King nodded and walked back into the tent, still clutching his bleeding arm. Edmund turned his eyes back to the Dwarf. "These are Narnian," he said in a low voice.

There was silence for a moment. Edmund bent down and cleaned his sword on the Dwarf's clothes.

"Those were a satyr and another Dwarf, inside the tent," Peter said as he returned, winding a rag around his arm, two shirts hanging from his arm. He threw one to Edmund, who caught it deftly and put it on.

"It was a mountain lion and a bull who attacked us," said Aurelius. "They were waiting just a few steps away."

"The guards?"

Aurelius tightened his jaw, his eyes sorrowful as he nodded towards the shadows at the side of the Kings' tent. From where he was, Edmund could see the crumpled heap that were the bodies of the satyr and Faun who had been on shift that night.

"I am sorry," Peter closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them, seeming to have cleared his head. He was now wearing a shirt concealing his wound. "We will see what to make out of this later. At the moment we must hide the bodies. We cannot afford panic in the Festival; if possible, this must remain between us only."

"There are two more tents with people near yours, Your Majesties," said Aurelius. "Badgers and Fauns. I have already instructed them not to speak of what they have heard, but I will speak to them again to ensure no information reaches other ears."

"Not even Narnian ears," Edmund said grimly. "Only the Lion knows who may be implicated… these are not hags or ogres; these are our own people, turned against us." His eyes widened and he looked at Peter. "The hare."

Peter set his jaw. "First let us clean up this mess. Then we will discover where the bodies are from and if they were here before."

It was a dreary task, but an hour later the bodies had been taken to an empty tent near the Guard's tents, where they were laid out carefully, the sentinels whose throats had been slit by the attackers set apart with much more respect. They would be buried soon. Outside, the sky was growing lighter as the sun began to rise. Soon fires would be started and the day would begin with a blast of trumpets.

Witrow growled as he entered the tent, sniffing at the bodies. A Red Dwarf had gone through all the pockets and not found much more than a bit of seed and dirty rags.

"Two black dwarves, a satyr, a mountain lion and a bull." Edmund shook his head slowly. "I never would have expected this."

"Thank the Lion you woke me," said Peter.

"Thank the Lion a dream woke  _me_ ," said Edmund darkly. It was ironic, really. He had never been more thankful in his life. "They would have slit our throats in our sleep and we would not have even felt it." He glanced at Peter's side. "How is your arm?"

"In a moment I will go to the healer's ward," he said. "I want to know what you make of this." These last words were spoken to Edmund, Oreius, whose hand had remained on the hilt of his sword during the entirety of the past few hours, and Dorick, who had been awoken as soon as the bodies had all been collected.

"They are most certainly Narnian, Sire," said the general. "Other than that I do not know. Perhaps supporters of the Witch? It is unusual to see such an ample variety of creatures allied, but not entirely impossible."

"No, it doesn't seem right," Edmund said. "The Mountain Lions were never on the Witch's side, and neither were the satyrs. I have never seen a supporter of the Witch kill himself before my very eyes."

"This speaks of something with even deeper loyalties, perhaps a sense of righteousness on their part, though I do not understand what it could possibly be based on," said Dorick thoughtfully. "Assuming that they were responsible for the poisoning as well as the attack… their sole determination is to kill Your Majesties. No attempt was made upon the palace?"

"No," said Peter. "They must have thought the next best thing would be to kill us. At this moment in time, it would be a shock enough to overthrow our government and possibly even depose our sisters. Calormen and Galma would not acknowledge two young girls upon the thrones as Queens. They barely acknowledge us as it is."

Edmund's eyes had been drawn to the corpse of the Dwarf, and his eyes were dark and thoughtful. "He called me a traitor," he said. "Perhaps that could explain it."

"But it wasn't just aimed at you, Ed."

"It might have been," said Edmund, his expression unreadable. "You would not have awoken had it not been for me. They may have just been aiming for me all along."

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," said Dorick, looking rather uncomfortable. "But I do not believe it would be reason enough to rally so many people against you. As we all know, there have been… incidents… but that was early in your reign and never with such passionate response. Your Majesty has long redeemed himself for old mistakes."

But Edmund's eyes were focused on Peter's. Peter shook his head. "I agree with Dorick," he said.

"Sire!"

They turned. Witrow was standing beside the large body of the bull, sniffing its head. The leopard looked up. "Sire," he said. "I know this smell. The smell they all carry."

Peter walked towards him and the rest follow. "You do?"

"Yes, Sire. I have smelled it not long ago, only yesterday."

"Where?"

The leopard's eyes were wide. "On the hare, the one Queen Lucy found at top of the hill."

Peter straightened up, looking grim. "Well, I believe there is even more reason to visit the healer's ward now."

They crossed camp quickly; there were few people about, though already stirring could be heard within the tents and in the distance, the words of the morning rituals of the Calormenes could be heard, carried by the morning wind. In the distance, the waves of the sea crashed behind the Palace, where the red and gold banners shone in the morning sun.

The healer's tent was being watched by only two healers at that time; a naiad and a rather meek-looking Faun. The naiad immediately dropped into a reverent curtsy.

"Is the hare awake?" Peter asked.

"Yes, Sire," said the naiad, rather flustered. "He has awoken only a few hours ago, but he is very weak."

"I must speak with him."

"Yes, Sire."

The Faun led them towards the third bed on the first row of the interior of the white tent, where the small figure of the hare was curled up under a sheet. Its ears twitched as they neared. Peter made a sign and Oreius and Witrow stayed behind, near the door.

The hare opened its eyes as they neared, and then its eyes widened with a mix of surprise, awe, and perhaps a bit of fear. It fidgeted nervously.

"Good morning," said Peter. The Faun brought them stools to sit on.

"G- good m- morning… my King."

Edmund could tell Peter was unsure as to how to treat the animal. Should he be treated as a suspect or as an ailing person? "What is your name? I trust you are feeling better?"

The hare nodded nervously. "I- I am, thank you, Your Majesties. I am Clover."

"Where are you from, Clover? Why were you at the side of the road yesterday?"

"I-" Clover took a deep breath. "I am from the Western Fields. I- I must have collapsed… I have spent the past few days running. There… there was something…"

Peter met Edmund's gaze. The Western Fields. There were many villages near the beginning of what was commonly known as the Western Wild, where the mountains turned and formed a wall that marked the end of Narnian territory; and it was mostly farming villages in the fields, from which it was said most of the food was obtained in the days before the White Witch had come to Narnia. There had been much trade in that part of the country. But now they were only small villages, slowly recovering from the oppression they had suffered, and it was not often one found visitors from that part of the country near Cair Paravel. As it was, none had come to the Festival from that far off. Or at least, none had until now.

"What do you know of the attack this morning?"

The hare's eyes widened. Peter's voice was not harsh, but it was serious and almost stern.

"What attack, Your Majesty? Here? Who has attacked?" his breathing became quick. Edmund could see the naiad looking towards them with worry. The hare didn't seem to be lying.

"It's all right, Clover," said Edmund. "It was small and few people know of it, but two people were killed, and the High King Peter and I nearly were as well. Those who carried out the attack, well, they seem to have come from the same place you did. Two dwarves, a satyr, a mountain lion and a bull."

Clover was speechless. His eyes were wide and he didn't seem to know what to say.

"So you know nothing of these people?" Peter's voice was softer now.

The hare gulped. "I never thought… I didn't think they would actually do it."

"Who?"

"I- I am sorry, Your Majesties," said the hare, looking truly grieved, its eyes pleading and ears drooping. "Perhaps if I had not fainted… perhaps this would not have happened."

"What do you mean?"

He took a deep breath before he began to speak. "I come from Pebble, the largest village in the Western Fields, which is on the edge of the forest that lies between us and the mountains. Though we were struggling at first to grow crops after the Long Winter, particularly since most of the males had been lost to the Witch during the War, things were finally seeming to pick up for us. Us sons were finally old enough to help our mothers, and the crops were growing well. We thought we might be able to be like we were before, you know… back when Pebble was the center of trade of Western Narnia."

He sighed. "Well, about five months ago, things began to change. There were some rumors going about, some people who said they could make things better. Some of the older people, mostly the dwarves and the Fauns, but some of us Talking Beasts too, began to go into the forest more often, and some of them stayed. They said they'd found a better way, said they'd met someone who could help make things like before the Witch, things… you must forgive me, Your Majesties, but this is what they said, not I… things that the Kings and Queens would never do for us. They called themselves the Knights of Stone.

"We didn't pay much heed to it at first; those who left did it because they wanted to, and it did us no harm. But then some came back and began asking for food; they said they needed it in the forest and that we should help them, for the good of the village and Narnia. Some gave them food, but it wasn't enough for them. They started demanding more and more, and all for free, too. So people stopped giving it to them; we needed food to feed our own.

"As it turns out, it wasn't just Pebble that was being asked. It was just about every farm in the vicinity. We started to get angry; some people told the forest ones to grow their own crops if they wanted free meals. They insisted, and even started asking for things like armor, and weapons. We got scared… didn't want a war to start in our village. We refused to help them. The Knights of Stone said they were doing important things and if we didn't comply then they'd have to take measures. And they did. A few weeks later we woke up and our crops had been pillaged, then a few days later cellars were broken into, animals were stolen.

"People started defending themselves, and then the real scary part began. Families were told that if they didn't give their part, their houses would be burned down. And they were. Entire crops were torn apart and stables and houses were burnt… everybody is scared and nobody knows what to do. Finally, we decided I'd come here and ask for help. Some didn't want me to; they said Your Majesties wouldn't help. They said the Kings and Queens won't help, don't care about the people in the farms, but us Talking Beasts have always been loyal, Your Majesties. And I came here, because I know that we have no other chance at staying alive.

"I didn't think the Knights of Stone would have decided to act this quickly. We all knew they didn't approve of your government, but we didn't think they'd try to kill anybody… but it sounds like them, Your Majesty. And I'm afraid… if I had set out sooner, perhaps, nobody would have had to die."

The hare hid his face in his paws, and Peter reached out to put a hand on his arm.

"It's all right, Clover," he said. "You have acted heroically. We are glad you have told us of this, for we had no idea. I am sorry for your village's losses, and I assure you we will converse about this topic with our sisters and see what we can do to send Pebble aid, as well as what we shall do about these so-called Knights of Stone."

"Thank you, thank you, Your Majesties," said Clover with a sigh of relief. "I am sure everyone in my village will be very thankful."

"It is our duty to you, as your Kings and Queens," said Peter seriously. "I have only one request."

"Yes, Your Majesty, anything."

"That you remain here for the time being whilst we decide what will be done about the situation, in case a guide should be needed. Someone shall be sent to show you to your new quarters."

"Of course, Your Majesty," said the hare, looking quite overjoyed.

They retreated to the other side of the tent, where Edmund reminded Peter of the wound on his arm.

"Well, at least we now know who the enemy is," said Peter said to Edmund in a low voice, grimacing slightly as the naiad tied a new bandage over the cut he had received.

"Out of all the explanations, this one was the last I had expected. I suppose there's no doubt that the attackers were part of the 'Knights of Stone'?"

"I'll have Clover look at them later, once they deem him strong enough to walk. Thank you," he added, as the naiad bowed, having finished treating his wound. Peter pulled his shirt back on and rose from the stool he was sitting on, moving closer to his brother so they could not be overheard. "This is a rebel group, and a well organized one, apparently," he said. "Two murder attempts and a systematic blackmailing of many houses in the West. We cannot leave the situation untouched for very long, or it could have disastrous effects. Aslan knows how many more times they will attempt to kill us."

They began walking towards the entrance of the tent. "I think we may have wiped them out," said Edmund. "Oreius has Witrow and some of the other Talking Beasts tracing the scent, which is a better lead than following an unknown one as they had tried to with the poison. They should be able to uncover any others who come from that part of the country."

"Let us hope not," said Peter. He moved his arm experimentally, clenching his teeth. "It hurts, but I can hide it. It is a good thing we are not actually competing, or I would have to forfeit."

"Peter," said Edmund as they walked out of the tent, even as the morning trumpet sounded, marking the beginning of the day. He grabbed his brother's healthy arm and pulled him to a side of the tent, his voice a whisper. "I have to go there."

"Are you daft?" Peter said, taken aback. "In the middle of the Festival?"

"It is still nearly two more weeks until the Festival ends," said Edmund. "Ignoring the situation until then is abandoning the villagers to the violence of these rebels, and also leaving open opportunities for them to strike at us once more the moment they discover we have done away with five of their members. Do you think they will back down? I doubt it very much. Pebble, if I understand correctly, is a day and a half's ride from here, if one rides without stopping. I must go."

"It's too dangerous, Edmund. You cannot take a force large enough; the best knights are participating in the tourneys and taking them away from it would be dishonorable. We do not know exactly who we are up against, not to mention what the reaction would be if one of the Kings were to leave the Festival." He shook his head. "Nay, we wait until the festival ends."

"I have a feeling Susan and Lucy will agree with me," Edmund said.

"And I have a feeling your idea is mad and will get at least one of us killed, as well as offend the Kings and the Princes. We must leave now; there are morning greetings to be made."

As his brother walked away, Edmund sighed worriedly. There was some movement beside him and he saw Lord Paldin emerge from the tent.

"Lord Paldin," he said, forcing a smile onto his face. "How are you? I am glad to see you are out of bed."

"I am, Your Majesty," said the man. "My movements are slow, but it does not take away from the enjoyment." He smiled.

"Once more, I must earnestly beg your forgiveness for the suffering we inadvertently caused you. We did not wish to place you in this situation."

"Nay, King Edmund, do not say such things," said the older man, his eyes grave. "I am only glad that I was the only one hurt. A knight from Archenland is a minor casualty; Narnia would have suffered much more had it been one of its Four who fell ill. As it is, I now have a chance to enjoy the Festival from a quieter, more peaceful perspective." He grinned. "And the naiads have promised me a dance tonight, if I rest enough. I have no regrets."

Edmund chuckled. "You are a strong man, Lord Paldin. I am glad to have met you."

"Likewise, Sire," he said.

"I am afraid I must get going, however," said Edmund. "May your health improve more, and may you enjoy your dance tonight."

He left the healer's tent and made his way towards where he knew Susan and Lucy would be arriving presently. The crisp morning air was cool, but it felt warm on his face, which still felt as if it had been frozen into ice from the bright light in his nightmare.

...

The morning began with an archery contest, which was won by Lord Cole, whose swiftness seemed to also extend to archery. Once the cheering had begun to die down, Peter took his leave, followed some distance away by two members of the Guard. As he stepped down from the gallery, he found himself face to face with King Lune, who was dressed in an emerald green tunic, a kind smile on his face as always. Around him, many people, both from Archenland and Narnia, were gathered in jovial conversation.

"I must say, High King Peter," he exclaimed loudly as soon as he saw him. "Thy people prepare the finest wine I have ever had the good fortune to taste! Perhaps in mead I may say Archenland holds herself higher, but not the wine. It feels as if I am tasting paradise on my tongue!"

Peter laughed. "I am glad our wine pleases you, King Lune," he said. "May you drink your fill; there is enough wine in this encampment to feed thrice the number of people who are here."

"Thou sayest so now," said Lune jokingly. "But be not startled if tomorrow the day arises and Archenland had emptied all the bottles out of love for wine! Why, I could drink forever!"

They laughed together, and King Lune drew closer, gently grasping Peter's sleeve. His smile was as bright as ever, but Peter could see seriousness in his eyes. "Wilst thou walk with me?" he asked.

"Of course."

They left the great multitude and moved towards a less busy route. Walking slowly, they tried to give the impression of a cheerful conversation between friends.

"Thou art wounded," King Lune remarked gravely.

Peter hesitated. "…well, yes, I am. Is it so noticeable?"

"Not to an ordinary eye, no," said Lune. "But I have had wounds of the sort all too many times during my life, and I recognize one when I see one. Thy act is strong, but thou holdest thyself much too stiff when walking."

"I'll try to improve it," said Peter. "Thank you."

"There was an attack last night, then?" Lune's face remained cheerful as he spoke for the benefit of those who passed by. "Thou fearest our reactions?"

"It is a tricky situation," Peter replied. "I am sure you understand."

"I do. But the fact that the criminals have not been exposed makes me believe that there are darker forces at work… it is not a mere attack out of spite or a personal feud, is it?"

Peter said nothing for a moment as a group of dwarves passed them on their way to the tiltyard.

"My fears lie mostly on the reaction such news would elicit," he said. "We cannot make a move that would leave the entire country on the wrong footing. And yet time is precious, and we cannot afford to risk our security or that of our people by leaving the situation unattended elsewhere."

"If I may give thee a word of advice, Peter," said the King of Archenland gravely, stopping in the middle of a grass clearing. The sentinels remained some feet away. "As a friend, and as a King who has lived for a rather long time. This would remain between us two only."

"Please," said Peter.

"A King must do what is necessary for his country," said Lune. "And, particularly in the beginning of his reign, it is his people whom he must protect, above all else. He cannot, at this point in time, risk insubordination or doubt within your ranks, and he must fulfill their needs in order to fight against these forces."

"I have considered going myself," said Peter after a moment. "Susan, Edmund and Lucy would remain to lead the Festival. A small group of soldiers under my command might do the work."

"Thou canst not leave," said Lune, shaking his head. "Thou art the High King."

"I have no choice!" said Peter, his eyes wide. "My people need me, they need protection. The Festival is of great diplomatic importance, but my brother and sisters can handle it well. The people, however… they must be protected, and outlaws must be punished."

"It is a job that can be done by any one man with the power and skills necessary," said Lune gravely. "It is not a job fit for the High King while in the middle of a diplomatic meeting from three nations, two of which are visiting for the first time."

Peter grit his teeth. "I cannot send a mere group of soldiers. There is too much politics involved."

"Then send King Edmund," said Lune simply. "He is not High King and his absence will not create much havoc, unlike thine. Yet he is skillful and powerful; good with politics. Reghorius and Jarrash will understand if he leaves to attend to matters of state."

Peter said nothing, his face drawn with worry as he stood in the clearing. King Lune stared at him for a moment and then smiled kindly.

"Thou art a good King, Peter," he said, and with a nod of his head, he walked away.

...

"Lune says I ought to send Edmund," Peter told Susan. He had called her to meet with him during one of the breaks between jousting tournaments, within the large tent where they would later meet for dinner. He laughed grimly. "Even Edmund says I ought to send Edmund."

"Then why don't we?"

He looked up at her. She was wearing a light blue dress and her hair had been braided in a crown around her head. She looked as if she had slept well the night before. Peter knew he looked the exact opposite.

"He's still young, Su. He would have to go and face an unknown enemy with a very limited number of soldiers on his side."

"And you think you would have been able to do better? We both know Edmund is the best strategist out of us four, and perhaps even the best diplomat, when it comes to it. You truly believe that his age will take away from his performance?"

"He has never been out on his own!"

"Neither have you, Peter!" Susan looked frustrated. "Are you seriously going to hold back aid from this village merely because you doubt your brother's ability? He was the one who saved you last night!"

"I am perfectly aware of that, Susan," Peter said. "But do you really think it's the best idea to send him off on his own to face an enemy we know very little of? Clover could not tell us how many people are hiding in that forest; we have no way of knowing what he is up against. And the village needs fixing, the people need comforting and we must show that we are present and that we will help our people-"

"But you are speaking of a two-person job," said Susan suddenly. "This is something two people must do. One group shall deal the rebels, and the other help reconstruct the village."

Peter sighed with frustration. "But now you are speaking of two people, when we do not even know who the first shall be?"

"Edmund and I," Susan stated simply. "Edmund shall lead the soldiers to deal with the rebels, and I shall remain with a small team to aid in the reconstruction of the village. If you fear for Edmund's safety on his own, then you have nothing to fear if I am near him."

Peter sighed, rubbing his eyes. Finally, he raised his head. "Very well." He called a guard, who soon left to find Edmund.

"What shall we tell everyone?"

Susan shrugged slightly in a way that was more reminiscent of the schoolgirl she used to be, than of Queen Susan of Narnia. "Tell them that our people need us, and that a Festival shall not stop us from protecting them and aiding them in their time of need. Tell them not to fear, and that we shall return shortly."

Peter nodded. "I only hope it will be enough to convince everyone."

"Peter?" Edmund walked into the tent, pulling off his riding gloves as he spoke. He glanced at Susan. "Oh, hello Su."

She smiled slightly. "Peter has decided."

"You and Su will go; you to eliminate the rebels, and Su to help the villagers."

Edmund nodded, a small smile on his face. But his smile disappeared quickly as he seemed to realize something. "You want me to… eliminate them?"

"What choice do we have?"

"They're Narnian."

"I am well aware of that," said Peter, his eyes heavy with worry and sorrow. "Aim for arresting them so they may stand trial; but if it comes to it and it is your only choice, kill them."

Edmund nodded, his eyes downcast. "Thank you, brother."

"It is not me you have to thank," said Peter, glancing at Susan with a small smile on his lips. "I wish I could go with you."

"You cannot try to protect us forever."

Peter held his gaze for a moment, his eyes tired and filled with worry. "I know. But I wish you did not have to deal with murder attempts and traitors who need to be executed during such early years of your life."

"Is that why Lucy is not here?"

Edmund's gaze was hard and prying. Susan said nothing, her eyes on the ground. The silence was tense.

"So both of you decided to hold council on this subject and neglected to invite Lucy?" Edmund gave a low laugh. "You do know she is just as much of a Queen as Susan is?"

"We know that, Edmund," said Susan quickly. "It is not meant out of disrespect… but she is young; she doesn't need to be involved in things of such sinister nature until she absolutely has to, and if we can solve a problem by ourselves without troubling her then we shall do so."

"It is not a choice you have the right to make."

They looked at him in surprise.

"Yes, it is," said Susan calmly. "We are the eldest. It is our job to protect her."

"No, it is not," said Edmund, his voice almost harsh. "You do not have the right to make such choices when you were not the one who decided if she was ready for the throne or not; it was Aslan."

Peter was taken aback. "It is not like that."

"Yes, Peter, it is. Aslan named us four Kings and Queens of Narnia. Do you truly believe He would have made such a decision if he thought one of us was not prepared? He could have put only one of us in the crown, or two of us, or even three… Aslan is not held back by mere courtesy. If Lucy is Queen of Narnia then it is because Aslan Himself deems her prepared for it, and therefore she should be treated as such." He sighed. "And honestly, she has earned that right."

When Susan spoke again it was with a lowered, almost meek, voice. "She is still young. She deserves a childhood."

A small smile appeared on Edmund's lips. "And you believe Lucy is not capable of managing a childhood and a position on the throne, herself? Do you forget who brought us into Narnia in the first place?"

Peter and Susan said nothing, their eyes downcast.

"These sort of choices are not yours to make. Not for Lucy, not for me, not even for yourselves. If Aslan made us rulers of this land then it is because we are ready." He took a deep breath. "I will go speak to Oreius to see who will join us tomorrow."

He disappeared through the entrance of the tent, and left Peter and Susan in silence.


	5. Chapter 5

They set out the next day as the sun rose in the sky. It was a small delegation that saw them go; the rulers of the other countries had been informed the night prior to their leaving that there were matters King Edmund and Queen Susan needed to attend to, and that no disturbance would be made to the Festival plans. So it was that Susan mounted her white stallion, a dark grey cloak fastened around her shoulders and her hair twisted into a simple braid, while Edmund shared some last strategy ideas with Peter before mounting his horse, chain mail glinting from beneath the sleeve of his jacket as he reined his horse.

Behind them came a delegation of thirty. Twenty of these were soldiers: Talking Beasts, dwarves, a few centaurs and a satyr or two; those who could be spared from the Guard that had to watch over the Festival and the remaining King and Queen. Witrow swished his tail softly back and forth as he washed his paws in preparation for the journey, and a Black Dwarf named Borik looked highly uncomfortable as he mounted his pony. None of the knights could come, as they participated in the tournaments.

"Blasted thing," the Dwarf muttered as he grasped the reins tightly, eyes fixed straight ahead. "Shan't be surprised if it throws me off at the top of the hill."

Edmund grinned. "All right there, Borik?"

"Yes, quite, Your Majesty," Borik bit out curtly. "I hope this journey is a short one."

"Nearly two days, or so I hear," said Edmund, the corners of his mouth betraying his amusement. "I suggest you become acquainted with your pony, my friend, or the trip shall be all the longer for you."

Various Talking Beasts, Fauns and dwarves were coming to help Susan, experts in building or merely willing helpers who wished to aid the Western Fields. Among them was Clover, curled up in a basket in front of one of the Fauns, as he was still too weak to run the entire journey. His ears seemed perkier now, and his eyes showed great excitement.

They had said their private goodbyes to their siblings earlier, but Susan still waved at her sister, who waved back with a bright smile. "I shall send letters with the eagles," she said, as Lucy and Peter drew nearer to them.

"Please do," said Lucy. "Or Peter shall be driven mad with worry." She patted her brother's arm.

"We will be all right," Susan said pointedly to her brother in a hushed voice. "For now, focus on making sure Narnia pleases the other countries."

"I hate diplomacy," Peter murmured with a pained smile.

"I'll bring you back a rock or two," Edmund called teasingly from where his horse stood. "So that you may get a taste of my adventures."

Susan knew that Peter only held back making a face at his brother because he was High King and all his subjects were staring at him. Instead he smiled with amusement. His eyes grew more serious as he looked into their eyes. "May the Lion go with you," he said. "Good luck."

They left at a gallop, small clouds of dust rising behind the hooves of their horses and the hooves of the centaurs. Witrow and a few other leopards ran alongside them with nearly more speed than that of the horses. The Narnian banner flew in the wind, and soon they had disappeared over the hills, leaving the sight of Cair Paravel hidden.

They travelled fast, their horses galloping past clumps of trees and rocky hills until they reached the end of the hills, seeing a long, flat extension of land reaching out before them. The sky was clouded but bright, and the wind made the green grass stir as if it had a life of its own.

At midday, when the sky seemed to shine the brightest, Edmund reined his horse and announced that they would set up camp for a meal before continuing. Susan and Edmund sat on nearby rocks together once they were done eating, and Susan pulled her cloak tighter around her as the wind blew through the camp. She glanced at Edmund, who sat hunched over, his hands folded in front of him as he stared into space, deep in thought, his brow furrowed.

"What is it?"

His eyes flickered towards her before he looked away. "It's nothing. I just… though I did want to do this myself, because I know I  _can_  do it, I am not particularly happy with the idea of having to fight Narnians."

"We have done it before."

"Not real Narnians," said Edmund. "These are not her supporters. These are people who do not believe us fit to rule." He sighed and bent down, pulling a blade of grass with his fingers. "Part of that doubt is because of me."

Susan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He called me a traitor," said Edmund. "The Dwarf who tried to kill me. And from what Clover said, I believe they do not want a traitor on the throne. They are not the only ones."

"But Edmund, that time is past," Susan said, laying a hand on his arm. "Aslan has forgiven you. You should forgive yourself."

"I have," said Edmund calmly. "But Narnia has not."

They fell into silence for a moment, and a satyr came by, taking their bowls as he passed. Finally, Edmund spoke.

"It will take years, perhaps an entire lifetime, to redeem myself in Narnia's eyes," said Edmund. He looked calm as he raised his face to the sky. He turned to Susan. "What we will be doing for Pebble transcends the situation there."

...

The Dancing Lawn seemed to have been transported to the lands before the castle. As she stood in the clearing between the tents, Lucy could almost imagine that the shadows around the edge of the bonfire were trees and not pavilions, and that the distant roar in the darkness was the wind in the tree boughs and not the waves crashing on the shore of Cair Paravel. She took Mr. Tumnus' hands as she always did, and together they swung to and fro, dancing the wild, strange dance of the trees.

"Why do you dance so often?" she had once asked him, on the first night they had been invited to those secret, untamed feasts of wine and fruit, coated in shadows born of firelight and moonlight.

"Dancing is like telling a story," he had told her, his mournful, happy eyes staring deep into hers. "It is remembering and forgetting all at once. We Fauns have always danced; we do it to keep track of time, to remember that we are alive."

"And the dryads?" she had asked. A pair came dancing, now, with leaves in their hair, twirling and laughing, their bare feet somehow seeming a part of the earth itself.

"Who knows why trees seek to dance?" he had said, a wide smile on his lips, and she had laughed and joined hands with those lively, strange girls, and somehow she had understood.

She understood now, too, from the moment she felt the beat of the drums under her feet, and the piping of flutes filled the air around her. She would have forgotten where she was, had she not seen Cadoc standing nearby, a wide smile on his face as he sat with his back to a tree, deep in conversation with Ekhar. A bit farther off, she could hear the low voices of the Tarkaans as they stood and watched. While she twirled to the merry melody, she caught Ishamiel Tarkaan's gaze. He was sitting near the others of his kin, but he did not speak to them, instead holding a soft wildflower in his hand. He was fingering it gently as his mind seemed to wander, his eyes watching the strange dance that took place before him. They held gazes for a moment, and she smiled as she always did. As she turned back to the sylvan she was dancing with, she thought she saw him smile back.

Later, she sat with Peter on the grass eating fresh fruit with the King of Galma, who for once actually seemed in a rather good mood, despite the fact that he had insisted to have a blanket placed for him to sit, not wishing to sit upon the bare ground, a fact that confused many of the Narnians, particularly the Talking Beasts. Perhaps it had something to do with the wine, but he almost seemed happy as he took a slice of apple, which one of his servants was slicing for him.

"I must say, High King Peter, unconventional as your customs are in Narnia, they do have a way of making a man feel like he is returning to his youth," he said.

"I am glad you feel it as well, King Reghorius," said Peter with a courteous smile. "Narnian air itself seems to make one feel alive."

"I thought it was all madness, what I heard of in Galma," he said. "And indeed your people sometimes do strike me as rather mad, but it is a craze that one yearns to be a part of, somehow. And your knights are good competition; I don't believe the Galman Lords have met a match in years! Never in their wildest dreams did they think it would be a centaur," Reghorius chuckled, taking another mouthful of apple.

"They are very much exciting," said Peter.

"Aye, even the Calormene Prince is enjoying himself!" Reghorius said, gesticulating towards the opposite end of the clearing. "He dances with dryads himself, it seems."

His voice seemed to have carried a bit too much, however, and in a minute Prince Jarrash had made his way over to them. "One must try new things when one has the chance, King," he said with a proud smile. As he moved to sit beside them on a cushion, a slave brought forth a dish of nuts from which he took a handful. "Never did I think to dance with the tree-people, but here I am, and indeed they are quite beautiful in their own way, these savage things."

"They are," said Peter. "But I would avoid offending them, Prince Jarrash, or you might find yourself in an unpleasant situation. The tree people are not under my command or that of my siblings; they are their own territory, and I we not intervene when they impart their justice."

"Oh, we shall take care, High King Peter," said Reghorius, waving a hand. "Fear not, I remain wary of your land despite its sweet fruit. Dancing trees, Talking Beasts, and murder attempts during meals… it is quite a handful." His eyes glinted darkly despite his apparent amusement. Peter forced his face to stay the same.

"Well have the poets said 'Cut down not the trees of others before tasting the fruit from your own orchard'." Jarrash was pensive as he finished a peach.

Reghorius did not seem to know what to say in reply.

Lucy was silent during this entire exchange. Though she had no problem with making herself heard, she had no particular interest in taking part in their conversation. So she sat patiently beside her brother until she caught sight of a lonely figure standing beside one of the tents. Excusing herself, she rose from her seat and began to walk towards it.

Queen Amisse of Galma stood quietly in the shadows, her golden hair carefully pinned behind her head. She was young; much too young to be Cadoc's mother, she realized, and there was something distinctly shy and perhaps even sorrowful about her. Two Galman ladies in waiting stood nearby. Lucy took an apple from a nearby basket and joined the other Queen's side.

"Have you tried the apples yet?" she asked in a friendly tone. "They are quite sweet."

The Queen looked astonished that she had been addressed. "I… no, I have not, Queen Lucy."

"Oh, just Lucy. May I call you by your first name?"

"Of course," said Amisse, surprised.

Lucy handed her the apple. "Do try it," she said. "I hope you have been enjoying yourself. You seem rather lonely."

"Oh! Oh not at all," said the Queen. "I am usually on my own, so I do not feel it much."

"Well that is terrible," said Lucy simply. "It must be amended. Come, I shall introduce you to some friends of mine."

She was, as it turned out, a very intelligent woman. As they joined Mr. Tumnus, Klaia and a few other dryads and Fauns, and later even Cadoc, who apparently had a good friendship with his stepmother, it became clear that she had read many of the same books that they had, and perhaps even a greater variety. She drew leaves and flowers in Mr. Tumnus' book and the dryads were very much impressed. As they laughed and ate together, it occurred to Lucy, with a mix of surprise and amusement, that perhaps she had a tendency to surround herself with friends older than she was.

"So, High King Peter," Reghorius began in a more serious tone as Prince Jarrash drew to aside to converse with King Lune. "What do you think of my son?"

Peter was taken aback. "Well," he began slowly, not quite sure what he was going to say. "I have not had the chance to speak to him for long, but from what I hear from my sisters he is quite a pleasant young man."

King Reghorius exhaled in a way that almost sounded like a snort. "Pleasant. Yes, that is Cadoc, if nothing else. And do not get me wrong, High King, it is a good trait; the mark of a good man. But not of a King… a King must be valiant warrior, a brilliant strategist, a subtle diplomat."

"And you fear your son does not manifest these attributes?"

"I have tried for years, nearly his entire life, but Cadoc does not learn. He is clumsy and lacks skill, particularly on the battlefield."

"I am sorry to hear that," said Peter, not knowing what else to say.

"It is not your concern, High King," said Reghorius, with a small smile that hid a condescending stare. "And do not mistake my words as a search for advice; I would not trouble your very much occupied mind with lesser matters. And of course, I am well aware that family matters are not your area of expertise."

Peter nearly had to bite his tongue to hold back a scathing reply. Reghorius did not seem to notice. "Nay," he said. "I say these things, for a sensitive subject stems from it. As you know, Narnia and Galma meet in single melee combat the day after the next."

"I am aware of that, yes."

Reghorius lowered his voice. "My son is to be the knight to meet yours on that day. As he is prince, it would be dishonorable for him and for me if he did not participate. Yet with his lack of skill, I know that he will achieve nothing more than to leave my country in poor standing before the others."

"No one shall think less of a knight who meets his match on the field," said Peter.

"Perhaps not of a knight, no," said Reghorius. "But a Prince… surely you understand. If my son loses this fight he shall leave my House in disgrace, and be an embarrassment to our country. I do not wish to leave Galma in ridicule because of a child who is too stubborn to develop the skills."

"I understand this," said Peter. "But I am afraid that if he is signed up there is nothing I can do for him. If his name is beside that of a Narnian knight, then it shall remain there."

"Aye," said Reghorius. "But you know who the knight is, and you are the High King. A word from you and the match is decided."

Peter felt his blood run cold. "What are you implying?"

In midst of the cheerful music and the sound of joyful laughter, Reghorius' voice sounded ominous as he spoke into Peter's ear. Peter had the sudden urge to push the old man away.

"A mere word on your part to one of your men, and Cadoc shall be spared his disgrace. A loss for Narnia does nothing to her dignity; a loss for Galma could mean her ruin." He lowered his voice. "You are well aware of the trading arguments between Calormen and my country; I cannot risk showing weakness before a nation that may very well be planning my demise and the invasion of my kingdom."

"It would go very much against the rules," Peter said, confused. "The tournament cannot have its games fixed in such a way."

"You are the High King," said Reghorius, grabbing hold of the side of a tent nearby and pulling himself to his feet. "I trust you will understand the precariousness of my position."

He ambled away into the shadows, probably in search of the way back to his tent. Peter remained where he was, stunned into silence. He could not believe that he had just been asked to break his own rules to ensure another country had good standing during a battle. On principle, he would deny them at once, but diplomatically, he knew, there were sacrifices to be made to ensure an alliance with other countries. And yet…

"What is it, brother?"

He looked up and saw Lucy, a garland of wildflowers in her windswept hair, feet bare and her dress still swishing about her feet after all the dancing she had done. Yet her face was full of worry as she kneeled down beside him and spoke in a low voice.

"You look concerned. I saw Reghorius here. What did he want?"

Peter looked into her large, anxious eyes, and shook his head lightly. "Nothing to worry about," he said. And standing up, he left the clearing.

The next day, it rained. Thankfully, not a terrible storm with thunder and flooding, as Narnia had a tendency to lay the onslaught upon her people with. But it was rain nonetheless, and some of the merriment of the days before was lost during that day, as people ran to and fro to protect their belongings from the rain, and barrels and pails had to be provided to catch water from dripping down into the tents through whatever holes it proved to have. Most of the activities, therefore, were cancelled, except during the small intervals in which the rain stopped. The people of the festival resorted to chess, checkers, and other board games to pass the time, and on its own it was still a rather entertaining day.

Peter, however, felt as if the rain was drowning him. With Susan and Edmund gone, the amount of tasks he had to administer was larger than ever, and he spent most of the day arranging for tents to be fixed and people relocated, ensuring that the food could be suitably transported to all, and above all else, worrying about King Reghorius' strange request. Perhaps if Susan had been at his side to help him come to some sort of conclusion he would not be suffering so much over his answer; both Edmund and Susan possessed a strange sort of common sense he sometimes felt he lacked.

By the time it was evening, he excused himself from the camp to have supper with Lucy within the walls of Cair Paravel. Since their sister had left, Lucy had to do the trip alone (though followed, of course, by an entourage of guards and a handmaiden or two), and Peter felt bad for his sister. Also, though he would never admit it to himself, Edmund's absence rather unnerved him at night. And so it was that they shared supper over a small table in their private chambers.

"I'm rather glad it rained," Lucy said as she stirred her soup. She always enjoyed stirring it and tasting only the top layer which had cooled. "I was concerned all the grass would die if it didn't; it has been so sunny lately."

"It probably will nonetheless," said Peter. "I doubt such a large encampment does the grass any good."

Lucy gave a small laugh. "True. Well, we shan't be short of tasks when the festival is over."

There was suddenly a rap on the door, and a guard entered, followed by an eagle that looked chilled to the bone, its wet feathers drooping miserably. Somehow, however, it had delivered the scroll of parchment in nearly perfect condition. With an elegant bow despite its deplorable condition, the eagle delivered a letter in the name of Queen Susan, and then left the room.

"Oh, they must have arrived already," said Lucy with realization. "Will you read it out loud, Peter?"

He was unrolling the parchment, his food forgotten on the table. "Yes, of course."

He was suddenly reminded of supper back in England, with his mother receiving a letter from their father in the war. Peter knew his mother always read the letters before placing them in his hands, but at the table she would always ask him to be the one to read it to the rest of the family. He had always assumed that his mother found the business of reading letters out loud tedious, but it suddenly occurred to him that there may have been different reasons.

Shaking his head slightly, he focused on the letter that was in his hands.

_My Brother and Sister:_

_Our royal brother King Edmund and made a hasty arrival at the Western Fields nigh three hours ago, three hours after midday, after a day and a half of travel. We were beset with a storm upon the way, which we have suspected shall fall upon you sometime soon. We hope all is well in the Festival, and please send our royal regards to their Lordships whose company you keep during these days._

_The story the hare Clover relayed to you, my Brother, did not do justice to the state of affairs in the houses at the Western border. Here was once a land of joy and plenty, once torn apart by the Long Winter and now twice torn apart by those who dare call themselves saviors of Narnia. Its damage has been a work of cowards and brutes, with no consideration for the sanctity of life and the moral rules that hold our entire society together. The people of the village of Pebble were unable to hold their attackers at bay and those farmers who live distant from the village much less; their situation is precarious and many are wondering how they are to survive the months to come, for in the case of most, it is their year's work that was stolen or ruined for them._

_Upon our arrival we met with the villagers in the house of a Dwarf family named Morkin. There were few of them; it was said that others feared a violent onslaught on behalf of the enemy as a consequence for cooperation, and others merely feared us, distrusted us. My royal brother Edmund has said often to me that the attitudes in Pebble are a reflection of the overall state of our country; if so, we have yet much work to do. The mere act of gaining the trust and reassuring the villagers that participated in our initial council overtook more than an hour's time. But after this they were eager to share their stories._

_They told us of deep wrongs that have been done to them: crops were torn to pieces, herds were freed and scattered in the night, cellars were pillaged, houses were burnt to the ground. Trees have been uprooted, and many dryads have been on the verge of death because of this. All of these acts of cruelty have been carried out as threats or punishments for not providing the supplies these 'Knights of Stone' seem to require, though many of the villagers did not even possess enough supplies to feed their own families. Aiding this village will require much more work than we expected, but the women and young men here display much talent and determination; they are hardworking and shall do anything to secure a future for themselves and for their children. I do not doubt that we shall achieve our goals; but it will take much sacrifice on everybody's part._

_There is one pleasing piece of information, however. The villagers have told us rumors of caves in the mountains, which is where they suspect the enemy is hiding. Our royal brother King Edmund and his group plan to leave for the caves tomorrow morning and investigate. Once they know their location, they shall attempt to meet with the enemy and discern what their true demands are._

_More letters shall follow to inform you of our progress. For now, we extend our loving greetings and hope that we meet again soon._

_Your good sister,_

_Susan._

Lucy smiled. "Well, I am glad they arrived safely, despite the rain. That must have been unpleasant. And it is good that they know where these Knights of Stone are."

"Yes," said Peter, deep in thought. "But other than that we know next to nothing about them. I hope the villagers are able to give Edmund some idea of what he is up against."

"Do not worry, Peter," said Lucy, and she stood up from the table. "Well, it is late and I must go to bed."

Peter nodded, standing up as well to kiss his younger sister's cheek. "Good night."

As he drew away, he felt her fingers around his wrist. She was looking up at him, her eyes searching. "What is it?" she asked. "You have been tense and preoccupied all day, even more than usual."

"I'm just worried for Su and Ed," he said, shaking his head. "Good night, Lucy."

Her fingers loosened and he drew away, grasping his cloak off a nearby chair and preparing to leave through the door. She stood where she was, her eyes still fixed on him.

"Why don't you trust me, Peter?"

He looked up almost guiltily, startled.

"I do trust you, sister," he said.

"No, you don't," said Lucy bluntly. Though she stood nearly two heads shorter than he did and her face did still look like that of a child, there was something about her that almost made him feel younger than she was.

"I do trust you, Lucy," he said. "But that does not mean I wish to involve you in problems that you cannot solve."

Lucy sighed. "Why do you insist on taking problems upon yourself all on your own? I am your sister, and I am also Queen of Narnia. Let me help you."

"It's not something that can be solved so easily," he said.

She reached out and pulled a chair out from the table silently, her gaze almost fierce as she looked into his eyes. After a moment of hesitation, he sighed resignedly and sat down. She sat down once more across from him, their empty plates and goblets between them.

"Reghorius wants his son to win in combat tomorrow," he said simply. "He knows that if the Prince loses, Galma faces disgrace before the other countries. He has asked me to pull some strings and ensure that his son wins the fight."

"But that is illegal," Lucy said. "You cannot order a Narnian knight to lose on purpose."

"I am well aware of that," said Peter, a slight scowl on his face. "But we cannot afford enmity between Narnia and Galma, and Reghorius will not take it lightly if I refuse to aid his son."

"Yet as High King of Narnia, you cannot be guilty of sabotaging a match."

"I  _know_ ," said Peter with frustration. "The thought of doing such a thing disgusts me. But is it truly worth risking enmity between our countries? It is only a match, whilst a blatant disregard for the King's wishes will be interpreted on his part as a betrayal and a show of arrogance before him."

"That does not matter," said Lucy firmly. "As High King of this nation, it is improper and an insult to Narnia herself if you betray your morals so deliberately. We have sworn an oath to rule this country justly, and that oath cannot be held through means of deceit."

"Then what would you have me do?!" Peter exclaimed with frustration, louder than he would have intended. "We are caught between two dangers to Narnia; which one shall we choose?"

Lucy scowled. "The King of Galma has no right to ask you to do such a thing for him. You are not one who may bend his will to the requests of others. Peter, he is using you. You are worse off doing as he says than you are doing nothing."

Peter put his face in his hands. "It is just so hopelessly confusing," he groaned. "I am the High King, and therefore I have the right to do whatever I wish; but as High King I cannot think of doing such a thing, for I live to serve my country. Where does one draw the line? Should my rank be different, then I would have refused at once, but in the state our country is at the moment, with rebels and battles within its own borders, can we risk hostility with Galma? Perhaps a sacrifice is in order to keep our country at peace!"

"We swore an oath to Aslan," Lucy said, her voice gentle. "An oath to rule and do justice among our people, and protect them from their enemies when enemies arise. One does not meet deceit with more deceit. Should enemies arise, then we shall protect our people as we always have."

Peter lifted his face from his hands and met her gaze, the frustration slowly leaving his face. "You are right," he murmured simply.

Lucy smiled slightly, leaning back in her seat. "You do not have to shield me from everything, Peter," she said softly. "You cannot do this alone."

He stayed silent as she rose from the table a second time, moving towards the door. "Good night," she said.

"Lucy?" he called after her when she had nearly disappeared through the doorway. She stopped and turned to look at him. "I'm sorry."

She gave him another smile and shook her head. "You do not have to apologize."

He took hold of his cloak once more and set out to return to camp, his mind feeling oddly at peace.

...

The next round of single melee combat was scheduled for after dinner the next day. Peter had not seen Lucy very much all morning, but it did not surprise him; he suspected that she was off with Mr. Tumnus once more, roaming the Festival and making new friends. He wondered at her energy; he was perfectly content sitting and speaking to Lord Peridan while the preparations were made for the start of the match. It also helped appease some of the nerves he could not help feeling when he thought of the King of Galma, whose request he had not followed through with.

"Galen and Frowe do not seem very nervous," said Peridan, leaning back in his seat.

Peter was busy surveying the gathering crowd. Most of Narnia had come to watch the match, eager to see the Prince of Galma face a Narnian Knight. Galen was well known for his skill with the sword and his long-standing friendship and teamwork with the Talking Horse Frowe. On the gallery opposite from where he sat, Peter could see King Reghorius moving to take his seat, his wife carefully taking her place beside him. It seemed to him that she seemed happier than usual, though there was some hint of worry on her face; perhaps she too was anxious to see Cadoc's actions on the field. Reghorius had most likely told no one of his request.

As the King took his seat, he gave Peter a small wave. Peter waved back, moving his gaze to the lists that lied between them. He could not help feeling a stirring of foreboding in his heart as he gripped the arm of the chair he sat on. What would he do once Cadoc lost the fight, and rather quickly, judging from the King's words? Reghorius was not likely to make public show of his feeling of insult, but the hostility would show soon. Things were already complicated enough, what with the murder attempts, without counting the barriers Reghorius might create out of spite, should any new complications arise.

"I have my bets on Galen," Peridan added, a proud smile on his lips as he saw his cousin speaking in a low voice to Frowe while they prepared outside the lists. "The Prince does not look quite as strong, though things may be different when the fighting begins."

Prince Cadoc stood on the opposite side, placing his helmet on his head, his clear eyes sweeping the crowd. His gaze lingered for a rather long time on the Narnian gallery, and Peter was seized with worry that he may ask a token of favor from Lucy when the time came. Such a thing would make the situation even worse, once Cadoc lost and it was obvious that Peter had not given Lord Galen orders in favor of Galma.

"Oh, we shall see, Peridan," said Lucy's voice from beside Peter. He turned to look as she took her seat, her hands grasping a small arrangement of flowers which she began to tuck into her hair. "Prince Cadoc seems to have trained very long. I trust that this will be quite an interesting match."

Peter met her gaze as Peridan replied. She stared back with a smile that was much calmer than he felt. A trumpet marked the beginning of the match, and Peter forced himself to watch as the Galman Prince rode into the lines upon a strong black mare, his sword drawn and his shield ready. Galen and Frowe were ready, moving forwards as if they were one body. Peter felt a wave of relief as he realized that neither of the knights would ask for tokens from any of the women.

Galen's sword struck first, glancing off the Prince's shield with an audible clang. The crowd gasped and cheered as Galen moved forwards, his sword quickly striking here and there, Cadoc hardly able to do more than protect himself by parrying and shielding himself. He was, however, a good enough rider to move his horse quickly, and so avoided being overtaken by the knight despite the fact that he was outmatched.

Glancing towards the Galman gallery, Peter could see Reghorius' pained expression mixed with anger and resentment as he watched his son practically being chased by Galen before him.

As he watched Cadoc, whose visor was up, his faced scrunched with concentration and effort, Peter thought he recognized the look in the young Prince's eyes. It reminded him of Edmund years ago, when he was younger and rebellious, longing for independence and recognition despite his age. He remembered the expression on his brother's face every time he or his mother told him to do something he didn't want to do: an expression of pure stubbornness and determination to see it through to the end. It was the same look he saw now in the eyes of the Galman Prince, as he blocked every one of Lord Galen's attacks, sweat pouring down his face as they fought under the bright summer sun.

And suddenly, Cadoc pushed forwards, unleashing a number of fierce blows upon the knight, who, surprised by the unexpected offence, was forced to retreat slightly under the rain of blows that fell upon him, limited only to parrying and trying to shield himself, though in a much more skillful manner than Cadoc. Though the Prince's attacks were rather clumsy and not very well carried out, the fierceness of his movements was what gained him an advantage for nearly ten minutes as they fought. The Galman delegation cheered for their Prince as he pressed onwards, Galen and Frowe being forced to move to try and find the time to begin a new attack.

They did, after a time. Cadoc received many blows to his armor and it became obvious he was nastily bruised by them. But despite Galen's expert swordsmanship, it took nearly an entire fifteen minutes more for the fight to end, Cadoc not managing to block more attacks out of sheer exhaustion. When he climbed off his horse to bow and retreat while Lord Galen and Frowe claimed their victory, it was obvious that he had been beaten so thoroughly it was difficult for him to walk, but the look on his face showed a fierce determination and silent dignity as he left the lists.

Looking up, Peter saw Reghorius' angry face now directed at him, though he clapped for the Narnian victory as he was politically obligated to. His eyes bored into Peter's, and Peter looked back at him with no expression on his face. After all, he had never officially agreed to anything. But he could not help feeling cold in his stomach as he thought of the things that might come from his decision.

Suddenly, the cheering died down, and all heads turned towards him. Rather dazed, he was initially alarmed, until he realized that Lucy had stood up and was now standing near the side of the gallery, her hands raised to calm the crowd.

"My friends!" she exclaimed gladly. "I speak on behalf of my royal Brothers and Sister when I say: I wish to applaud Lord Galen for his remarkable prowess during this match. Lord Galen, you have truly brought your country honor and the country of Narnia is proud to count you among those who walk bearing the name of the distinguished Order of the Lion."

The crowd cheered, and the Narnian flag was waved vigorously from all around them. Lord Galen bowed deeply, his helm now under his arm. Beside him, Frowe had bowed his head as well, his nose nearly touching the ground.

"But I would also like to extend our compliments to the valiant Prince Cadoc of our sister nation of Galma. Though the victory was taken by Narnia, one cannot forget the staunch determination displayed by Prince Cadoc, the likes of which have never been seen before, extending the match nearly twice the length of an ordinary match, therefore demonstrating that indeed the people of Galma are strong and determined in their defenses. It is an honor for Narnia to count Galma among her allies; for, as Prince Cadoc has so well demonstrated, no matter how desperate the situation, she will defend her own."

The cheers were even louder this time, and nearly the entire audience, Narnian and Galman alike, waved flags and was joyful. The Calormenes clapped as well, and Peter caught a glimpse of Prince Jarrash's elegant smile as he gave a nod of appreciation to Prince Cadoc. Peter looked at King Reghorius and knew that he had seen the exchange; his anger disappeared, and though he did not look joyful, there was some relief and perhaps even a flicker of pride in his eyes as he watched his son leave the lists.

While the people cheered, Lucy returned to her seat. Peter smiled at her.

Later, as he made his way to the place where the wrestling matches would be held, he caught sight of a group of dwarves moving a wheelbarrow full of crates and furniture from one side of the camp to another. He stared at them, confused.

Beside him, Peridan saw his face and spoke. "There was some flooding last night as a result of the rain, Sire," he said. "And it presents an inconvenience to the clans of dwarves whose quarters were there."

"Their tents ought to be moved to new places, then," said Peter, surprised. "We must assign them new spaces-"

"Oh, it has already been done, Sire."

Peter stared at him in confusion. Peridan smiled. "Queen Lucy spent the morning arranging their new quarters," he said. "She has been supervising Aurelius' work for the past few days."

"I…" Peter was stunned. "I was not aware of that."

The dwarves passed them and they continued to walk. "Yes, I spoke to Her Majesty two days ago," said Peridan. "She said she did not wish to inconvenience you."

Peter fell silent.


	6. Chapter 6

Susan awoke and was suddenly overwhelmed with confusion, not recognizing the place she was in. It was almost completely dark all around her, and the only light that penetrated the darkness was the cold blue light of the beginning of the sunrise as it peeked through the folds of the curtains that covered the small windows of the tiny room in the low building she was in.

Memories came rushing back to her, and she immediately remembered the soft but well-worn blankets she lay in, as well as the sturdy log walls around her. She was in the house of the Morkin family, composed by a Dwarf woman and her four young sons. It was not often that one saw dwarven women; from what she had heard they had a tendency to keep to themselves, but Hana Morkin was no ordinary woman.

The night before, after they had shared a very simple supper in the Morkin's garden along with the others, Edmund and Susan had gone to sit on the low steps of the porch of the small house, illuminated only by the soft golden light of a lantern that hung from the side of the roof. Around them, the small roads were deserted, distant lights glimmering in the trees and in the small houses in the distance. All had gone to their homes now, and those who had come from Cair Paravel had retreated to the Morkin's stable behind the house, along with the four Morkin brothers.

Susan had sat and listened to the crickets chirp and the soft whispers of the trees moving in the breeze. Edmund had been rubbing his hands together.

"It is colder here than it is at the Cair," he had said quietly. It felt as if louder words might awaken the night.

"It is because we are closer to the mountains," Susan had replied softly.

They had sat in silence for a while, their knees and elbows touching as they sat on the narrow porch steps, iron armor against soft cloth clothes. Susan had felt like a child once more, the stir of fear and excitement in her heart as she looked on towards the darkness, reminiscing old tales of monsters and ghosts that she had long ceased to fear, but that still held their place in some distant part of her memories.

"Sometimes I cannot help but think that perhaps this is all a dream," Edmund had said in a low voice, his gaze on the darkness as well, a small smile on his lips. "And that soon I will awaken and we shall be at home with Mother, arguing and fighting as we used to."

Susan had laughed softly. "Poor Mother."

Edmund had laughed as well, shaking his head at the memories of their fierce squabbles over insignificant things.

"Edmund," Susan had said presently. He had turned his face towards her. "Do you ever miss it?"

"Sometimes," he had answered after a moment, turning away, his eyes gleaming in the soft lantern light. "But not as much as one would think. Do you?"

"I feel the same," she had said. "But do you not wonder at it, Edmund? That we feel no remorse for having left behind all we have ever known? That we do not wonder if our mother misses us, that we do not wish we could return?"

"There was nothing for us there, Susan," Edmund had said, his voice firm but not unkind. "Narnia is our home now, and, as Lucy would say… this is the will of Aslan."

"We do not know what the will of Aslan  _is_ ," she had replied. Her eyes had gone wide and her fingers were clenched around the soft cloth of her dress. Somehow, the night had given her the confidence to speak the fears that had been lurking under the surface of her mind for months. "Are we returning someday? Or is this to be our home forever?"

"Would you rather it weren't?"

Susan had smiled, almost sadly. "No. I would rather stay here than go to any other world."

"Then what is the point of wondering? We cannot know. We have duties to perform and friends all around us. What else do you need?"

Suddenly she had realized she had tears in her eyes. "A reason," she had whispered. "A reason to live, and plan, and grow. How can I be truly satisfied with the world around me if I fear that in the blink of an eye I shall have to return and lose everything I have built here? How can we fight for our people if we have no reason to fight for ourselves?"

He had said nothing, and they had not shared any more words that night. Instead, her younger brother had put his arm around her shoulders and she had placed her head on his, both staring on towards the night, until the moon had fully risen and Edmund had left towards the stable where he would sleep.

In the distance, a rooster crowed, and gradually Susan became aware of rustling noises on the other side of the curtain that separated her small room from the rest of the house. Candles had been lit, and it was not long until she saw Hana Morkin's short, stout figure come through the curtain, making her way to her bed. Her rough hand reached forwards and gently shook Susan's arm.

"Queen Susan," the woman said in a low voice. "It is time to rise. Your brother and his men are bringing out their horses now."

Partly concealed by the blanket, Susan pretended to wake up, and sat up slowly. Before her, Hana stood with a candle in her hand, a well-worn apron over her skirts, her reddish hair in a messy bun. She would have looked like a human, had it not been for her short height and the distinctly dwarven shape of her face. Her stony brown eyes peered at Susan almost guardedly as the Queen arose, fastening her gown over the shift she slept in.

The people of Pebble had not seen monarchy in their entire lives, and therefore had some trouble when it came to knowing how to address Edmund and Susan properly, and what sorts of things to do and say before them. They were ignorant of court rituals and hierarchy, and therefore often inadvertently treated their superiors as people of their same rank. But Susan did not find this offensive or annoying; in fact, it was somewhat amusing and in a way a good rest from the treatment she was used to receiving in Cair Paravel, which could be tiresome at times.

After she had washed her face and arranged her hair, she followed Hana out of the small room and found herself in the small main room, where some chairs, a table, and a low couch were neatly arranged near a fireplace that was rather large for the room, an  
equally large cauldron inside it. Shelves of cooking implements and household tools were placed against the wall, and on the opposite side of the room was a small door leading down to what Susan presumed was the cellar, beside another which she knew led to Hana's room. It was strange to think that the house had once been the home of eight people. But then again, everything seemed rather smaller to her, being much taller than the dwarves; as it was, there were parts of the house where her head nearly scraped the roof.

While Hana seized a tray full of small bows of porridge, which Susan realized was what the cauldron had held, Susan unlatched the front door and opened it wide, following the dwarven woman out into the road.

The village of Pebble had been built almost completely around a crossroads: one road leading back towards Cair Paravel in the East, another leading North towards what had become known as Lantern Waste, another leading South towards mountains, and another leading towards the forest and more mountains beyond in the West, which was where Edmund and his men were going.

The houses were spread out with much space between them, as was customary in Narnian villages; the different styles of living that the diversity of species within the Narnian population had made it necessary for homes to be rather separate: dwarves and moles had different sorts of homes and activities. But the villages were villages nonetheless, and there was a fierce sense of unity and protectiveness for their own.

In front of the Morkin's house was Clover's home, a small shack under which, from what Susan had heard, a burrow had been dug. The shack served merely as protection from rain and wind, and protection for the vegetables they acquired during harvest season; unlike most Talking Beasts of their kind, Clover's family had ensured that they could easily obtain food from their own land, and had an income from selling to other families in the village. Clover had said that in the years before the Long Winter, his family had had the largest and most richly furnished burrow in all Western Narnia. With the White Witch's reign, their riches had mostly been lost, but they had slowly begun to plant crops once more and had been looking forward to the fruits of their labor.

But at the moment, their field laid torn apart, and their shed only half-stood on the few logs that remained in place. Only a few days before, the Knights of Stone had ransacked their stores and torn out their crops, destroying most of their shack in the process. Susan could see Clover's mother and many children standing on the side of the road, looking rather meek as they watched Edmund's people saddle their horses, preparing to leave. There was a certain unease to their stance, and they glanced jerkily towards the far ends of the roads, as if they expected invaders any moment now; Susan could not blame them… after what had happened to the villagers, it was expected. In between the houses where people were visible stood abandoned huts; these had been the homes of those who had abandoned the village in favor of the Knights of Stone.

Edmund greeted Susan as she walked towards him and Borik, who was grumbling as he fastened his pony's saddle, but stopped to bow deeply towards her as she reached them.

"Breakfast?" she offered, handing a bowl of porridge with a spoon to each.

"Thank you," said Edmund with a smile, taking the bowl and eating quickly. He looked comfortable in armor, unlike the first days when he had to ride wearing it at the beginning of their reign.

"Do you know the way?" Susan asked.

Edmund looked towards the forest. "Well enough. Two of Hana's sons have offered to take us near the caves. I will send a message when I can."

The empty bowls were set aside (the Talking Beasts had found food in the outskirts of the forest on their own) and the horses were mounted. Looking around her, Susan could see many small groups of locals watching them prepare. She could tell that many eyes were set upon Edmund; their gazes were a mix of curiosity and fear… in some cases, perhaps some disdain.

He followed her gaze. "Narnia has not," he said, repeating his words from the day before, his eyes grave.

She said nothing, and patted his horse as he got into the saddle. As everyone else mounted as well, he looked at her. The look in his eyes made him seem older than he really was, and somehow she felt she was speaking to a part of him that was older than she. "Be brave, Sister," he said in a low voice, so no one else could hear. "For now, these people  _are_  your reason."

And then he reined his horse, and with a thunder of galloping hooves, they were gone, turning at the crossroads and disappearing in the direction of the forest.

Susan took a deep breath, and then turned to those who had been left behind. Slowly, one by one, they turned their eyes to her.

Nearest to her were those who had come with her from Cair Paravel: two Fauns, three dwarves, two dogs, two moles and one satyr. They were finishing their breakfast, and the two Fauns were carrying the dirty bowls back into Hana's small house. Near the sides of the road stood Clover's family, along with Clover himself, who was sitting calmly on a clump of grass, looking considerably better than he had before. The two remaining Morkin brothers, Gimor and Kimor, heavily bearded despite their very young faces, crouched on the porch of their house, their mother standing nearby. Susan thought she saw some eyes peering at her from a nearby tree, and suspected it was the Monkeys, two of whom she had met the night before. They were all staring at her expectantly.

"Very well," she said, raising her voice so that all might hear. "It is time to begin our work. May all willing to assist move closer?"

She was quickly joined by those who had come with her, having finished their breakfast, Clover and two of his brothers, the three Morkins, and three Monkeys who swiftly dropped from their tree and came near. Two black dwarves also suddenly appeared and joined them, though they looked rather reluctant. Susan heard whispers, and suddenly one of the black dwarves cried out, looking towards a larger house that stood near the Hare family's.

"Come out o' yer hole, ye disgraceful thing," he cried harshly. "Ye don't get to lurk in the shadows while yer neighbors fix the trouble ye were too cowardly ter face!"

There was a hushed murmur among the locals, and Susan suddenly saw movement from the door, which she had assumed was closed. Slowly, an old Faun stepped out, his face downcast, wearing a woolen vest. He said nothing as he joined the group, but Susan could see people glancing at him now and then with no kindness in his eyes.

She had heard of him. He had elected to give supplies to the Knights of Stone, even when they began threatening neighboring families. He had refused to take part in conversations to call for help, and had not opened the door for the black dwarves when their house had been burnt to the ground by the rebels.

Susan spoke up quickly, fearing that, given too much spare time, a fight might break out. "For those of you whom I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting, I am Queen Susan Pevensie, come from Cair Paravel to bring you aid in this time of need. I trust we shall get to know each other very well over the next few days as we repair the damage that was done to you. Please know that I and those who have come with me are here to assist you in anything you may need; we are your friends, and we are here to serve you. We shall do our best and devote all our energy to these tasks, so as to ensure that you never need suffer in this way again. Please know that though only King Edmund and I were able to come, given the responsibilities the Festival demands, both the High King Peter and Queen Lucy send their loving regards, and their well-wishes for your restoration in this time of need."

There were nods and some words of thanks from the more trusting creatures. Susan smiled.

"Let us begin, then. Last night we decided we would begin with those buildings that have been damaged or torn down." She looked to Clover. "Those would be…?"

Clover gave a small cough and then spoke rather nervously. "The Morkins' chicken coop, the Birdel brothers' home, and my own family home."

"We shall start at your own home then, Clover," said Susan, "As I believe it is the easiest to rebuild, given that it has not been burnt."

And so they began to work, the moles quickly making their way to ensure that the dirt near the burrow was in good state to rebuild the two walls that had been collapsed. In doing so, they discovered that part of the burrow had caved due to the heavy crash of the logs over their home, and together with Clover and his brothers, they managed to rebuild it and even add an extra room. The Fauns and the satyr inspected the wood that was found scattered nearby and took them to the dwarves, who, with help from the Monkeys, who had facility when it came to the roofs, carefully set them in place and began to work on them with their hammers. Meanwhile, the dogs ran further, searching for the pieces of wood that had been lost. They returned explaining that several trees that had been torn along the way were not dryad trees and therefore might be used if new wood was needed.

Susan and Hana helped Clover's family retrieve empty sacks from the trampled and upturned ground, which had been scattered when the shack was raided. The rebels had been thorough; no food had been left within the sacks, and the shack had been almost completely emptied.

The sun was only beginning to truly warm their skin when they finished the Hares' shack. They quickly moved on to the Morkins' chicken coop, which had been partially torn down and burnt, its chickens scattered. Gimor and Kimor had managed to catch them all the night they had escaped from the fire, and had placed them in a makeshift pen near the back of the house for the time being. This time the dwarves went with the dogs to cut slabs of wood both for the chicken coop and the Birdel brothers' house, and the Monkeys remained to help build it. The Fauns and the satyr helped transport the slabs of wood with wheelbarrows, and Susan and Hana helped with the hammering. Meanwhile, those who were not needed in the task of rebuilding the coop made their way to make plans for the Birdel brother's house or were gathering straw for the interior of the coop.

Once the coop was ready, Susan, a Faun and a Dwarf had the rather unpleasant task of moving the chickens into their new home, a task both uncomfortable for them and for the chickens. Susan suspected she gained some respect from the locals when they watched her struggle with a rather fierce chicken and ultimately win after what was nearly as exhausting as a full-fledged swordfight.

Sometime after mid-morning, they all went to where the Birdel brothers' house used to sit. The Birdels were the two fierce black dwarves who quickly set to work with the wood they had helped procure from the fallen trees in the forest. They seemed anxious to prove that, though they had help, they could do most of the work on their own.

Susan stood towards the edge of the land, gazing at the pile of burn wood that had been set to a side in a crumpled heap, along with what she could see were remnants of furniture. She was suddenly overtaken by sorrow for the two dwarves who had nearly lost everything to the fire.

"Shameless outlaws," she heard a growl from beside her, and turned to see Hana standing beside her, her arms crossed angrily before her. Her expression was dark. "Burning down the only thing those poor boys had left over from their family… and all just because they tried to defend the rest of us."

Susan shook her head. "It's terrible."

"I swear to the Lion if any one of those bastards enters this town again I will hunt him down myself," Hana said through gritted teeth, not even looking at Susan, who had the distinct impression that the Dwarf woman was speaking more to herself than to her. "I'm not standing still while people threaten my sons; I've lost enough to the war and I won't lose any more."

"They threatened your sons?" Susan turned to her in astonishment. "You did not mention that in the meeting last night."

Hana gave a small shrug. "T'weren't important at the time," she said. "Why do you think they burnt our shed and scattered the cattle when all they needed was a bit of meat?" She grinded her teeth. "They threatened my boys and tried to make me do things I won't ever do. I won't let any creature make me do anything I don't want to; I'm not letting anyone try to own me. I lost three sons and one husband to the Witch; two to the War and another two to what happened afterwards. They've drawn our people out with talk of a  _better way,_ and now they have them destroying their own village. If they think I'm ever letting myself lose anything again then they're wrong. Oh, they're  _wrong_."

Susan stared at the woman with newfound respect. The night before it was her sons who had done most of the talking; but it became clear that what they had learned, they had most likely learned from their mother. She fervently hoped Edmund would defeat the rebels quickly. The people of Pebble had suffered enough.

The foundations for the house were nearly finished by the time it was noon. Susan, along with one Faun, a female Monkey named Willow and Clover's mother, followed Hana to her home and helped prepare dinner. It was a very simple affair, what with food being scarce for everyone, but everyone had brought something and soon a simple yet savory stew was cooking. While Hana stirred the cauldron inside, Susan and Willow washed the bowls that had been used that morning, while Clover's mother carefully dried them and set them in a careful pile.

"Ought you to be doing this work, Queen Susan?" Willow asked meekly from where she stood, rubbing soap over the bowls.

Susan laughed. "Why should I not be, Willow?"

The Monkey looked shy, turning her eyes away. "Well… you're a  _Queen_ …"

"That simply means I must work all the harder," said Susan with a smile.

They piled the bowls and spoons onto a cart along with the heavy cauldron full of food, Hana herself sitting beside it to hold it in place. The cart was pulled along by a donkey, which, apparently, had been the only beast wise enough to remain inside the stables the night the rebels had opened it and scattered the cattle. Willow sat on the donkey and edged it on, her light weight making her nearly go unnoticed by the beast, and Susan guided it carefully by its rope. In this manner, they reached the area where the house was being built, and they shared a joyful, though rather tired meal together.

After half an hour of rest, those working on the house returned to the task at hand, and Susan followed the rest to the land behind the stable of the Morkins. The cows had escaped only a night before and the Morkins had been too busy with the other problems the Knights of Stone had caused to herd their own cattle. The dogs immediately set to work, running in circles to push the cows towards each other as they stood grazing, scattered across the land, between clumps of trees. Susan was somewhat amused as she watched them.

"Did you know that where I come from some dogs gather cattle all the time?"

One of the dogs in question looked rather confused as he cocked his head towards her, breathing quickly after all the running he had done, having brought a pair of cows in safely.

"You mean… like that is their employment, Queen Susan?"

She hesitated, not knowing how to explain ownership to him. She did not wish to offend him by drawing a comparison between a common dog and a Talking Dog, and therefore merely said, "Not exactly… but something of that sort."

It was after a bit over an hour that most of the cows had been gathered, but Hana pointed out with no little worry that that four of them were missing. And so Susan set off, accompanied by the two dogs and two birds, who happened to live in the trees nearby and were eager to help.

They found one cow ambling through a distant clump of trees, looking rather confused, and they tied her to a tree trunk while they further explored the area, wondering if perhaps there was another there. They did not find any, but the dogs thought they picked up a scent and left at a run towards farther off into a deeper cluster of trees. Susan was only beginning to untie the cow and lead her back to the stable when she heard frantic barking, and the dogs rushed towards her calling out that they had found another one.

The poor cow seemed to have sprained her somehow, and was lying awkwardly on the grass, crying out softly. Susan stroked her head and sent one of the birds to call two of the dwarves for help.

It was a good thing too, because just as the dwarves were debating what the safest way to transport the cow back to the stables so she could be treated was, the dogs picked up another scent.

This time Susan had to force herself not to cry. Two dead cows lay near to each other behind some rocks, parts of their flesh cruelly cut off, and in some cases, some of their legs, their necks extended as if they longed for an escape, their eyes wide and glassy. Blood caked the grass underneath them.

"Savages," Gimor bit out, tears in his eyes as he surveyed the damage. "Couldn't even dispose of the bodies properly, could they? They needed meat, and they took it. There's no respect for the poor beasts." He leaned down and stroked the one of the cows' nose, gently. Susan could tell he was trying very hard not to cry. "You poor, poor girl. I'm so sorry."

They buried them a few yards away, near the trees, once the other two cows had been safely taken to the stable. Susan got painful blisters in her hands while helping dig the graves, but she couldn't care less. Her tears joined those of the two dwarves as they buried the damaged bodies.

Everyone met at sundown and helped set up a tent for the visitors, since the stable was now full. Susan could not shake the sadness in her heart, despite her best attempts to appear cheerful before those around her. It was the arrival of an eagle that helped calm her, for it bore Peter's letter in reply to hers.

_My Sister:_

_I address this letter to you only, for I trust that Edmund has already departed earlier this morning. He is in our hearts and in our minds, and we hope for his swift victory in defeating the rebels. We hope also for your success, dear Sister, in assisting the villagers of Pebble; your detailed explanation of what has transpired there has saddened us greatly, but we are confident that with the aid of the Great Lion and your skillful labor all evil shall be eradicated from that place. I fear that there are times when we believe the entirety of our country is reflected in those towns and villages closest to Cair Paravel, and by reducing Narnia to such small a region we omit the sufferings of those farthest from us from our minds. This is, of course, not something born of malicious intent, but a mere act of forgetfulness that we must be aware of so as to not commit the same mistake again. It is a great relief, therefore, to know that we are on some level addressing this problem._

_Here in the Festival all goes well. Narnia has been succeeding quite brilliantly in the tournaments, though Calormen is a fierce adversary. But the competitiveness has not overshadowed the alliances between the countries, and though trying moments come and go, overall there is much enjoyment and laughter to be had. Your presence and that of our Brother is sorely missed, but I believe that we might even have gained a higher respect in the eyes of our allies for the swiftness of our actions when our people are in need. Perhaps it is wishful thinking; but our Sister assures me that it is not._

_On the topic of our royal Sister, she is doing quite marvelously. I have come to realize that our reign would be impossible without her. In fact, these mere two days without her would have sent the entire Festival into irreparable disarray. She has proven herself outstandingly capable. I am afraid that I may have been wrong on all accounts, and fear that perhaps I have been holding all of us back by attempting to protect you. If this is the case, which I suspect it is so, I must beg your forgiveness and that of our Brother. I trust that in your capable hands, this country shall move forwards to become a land of joy and plenty once more._

_Please communicate our most earnest greetings and well-wishes to those who suffer in the West. And on a lighter note, our dear friend King Lune has entreated me to relay to you that he intends to save his last store of Archenland mead until your return, which he hopes is rather soon, for he yearns for its taste, or so he has informed me. We eagerly await your next letter._

_Your good brother,_

_Peter._

She could not help an amused smile at King Lune's message, or a tender smile at Peter's admission that perhaps he had been much too overprotective. She fervently hoped he was not worrying himself too much about it, though knowing her brother he most likely was dwelling in self-hatred. She only hoped Lucy would know him well enough to help assuage his worries.

...

The next day began just as early as the first had, and it took much willpower for Susan to get out of bed. But Hana's insistent words and her knowledge that the entire village was aware of her good will and energy served as motivation, and she was soon out of bed and eating the hasty breakfast porridge that Hana had prepared.

They had intended to begin fixing the crops that had been burnt or torn apart, but word reached them that Old Badger, who lived in a burrow near the stream at about an hour's distance from Pebble, had been hurt badly when the outlaws had raided his cellar and stolen many of his things. So, leaving behind the Birdel brothers, the Morkin brothers and two of the dwarves who had come with Susan, they set out on the road towards Old Badger's home. Along with them came Clover, who was now feeling very well, Hana, and Willow and her brother Ash, for they knew the way and were worried about Old Badger.

"He helped our family lots when we were short on food," Ash had said. "Kept us all alive during the Long Winter, when it was hard to find things to eat and Father had just died. Mother didn't know what to do, but Old Badger would travel all the distance to bring us supplies."

Old Badger lived in a large burrow near the outskirts of the forest, more towards the South, so near to a stream that Susan could hear the water moving over the rocks as she stood outside. The burrow was so large that she could crawl into it and sit, which was very convenient, seeing as Old Badger turned out to be badly injured.

They had broken his hind leg and stabbed his paw, and he was lounging on a chair with a makeshift bandage around his paw, gritting his teeth as Willow and Hana nimbly worked on fixing his wounds, Susan handing them bottles of cordials and bandages when necessary, for Hana had had the presence of mind to bring her medicinal supplies along with her. As they worked, some of the others went out hunting for any things that might have been lost in the forest as the thieves escaped, and others inspected the damage that had been done to the badger's stores. Much had been smashed and broken, and they immediately began to salvage what they could, fixing the shelves and trying to rearrange what few jars, barrels and sacks were left.

Though he was in terrible pain from his wounds, all Old Badger seemed to be worrying about was what had been stolen from him. He constantly spoke between growls of pain as Willow and Hana attempted to set his hind leg back in place.

"They've taken all my food, nearly everything," he kept saying in a whisper, his black eyes glistening in between his old, almost discolored, fur. "I had so much saved. Now what will happen when Winter returns? What shall I eat?"

"Relax, friend," said Hana, in the kindest voice Susan had heard her use yet. "We shall replenish your cellars with enough food to last you."

But the badger continued to murmur, shaking his head over and over again. "No, no," he said. "No... there is not enough food to withstand another Winter…"

Susan wanted to question him in order to understand why he spoke so desperately. But one of the Fauns soon managed to calm him with a drink of some sort, and Old Badger fell into a deep sleep on his little couch. Hana's face was unfathomable as she gathered her supplies, and Susan felt that it was not a good time to ask questions of that sort. Instead, she kneeled near them and made many questions about the ways they had healed his wounds, and the names of the herbs they had used. Though Lucy had the cordial Father Christmas had given her, they could not rely on the cordial forever, and they had long ago decided that it would not be used unless it were in the most extreme of cases. Lessons in simple healing would prove useful, she was sure.

When it was midday, they left the burrow and went to the stream, where bread and butter was shared as a sort of simple dinner, along with a few apples that had been brought. They had set aside a share for Old Badger, who still slept. As she ate, sitting upon the bright green grass of the bank, Susan dangled her sore feet in the cold stream, the bright sun making the weather quite warm. Some of the Talking Animals stepped into the water themselves, such as the dogs and Ash, who had quickly formed a friendship with them, and the sound of their games nearly echoed all around them.

"What will we do this afternoon?" Willow asked, a bit less shyly than she had done the day before.

"I believe we shall go visit that Dwarf family you spoke of, that has the goat farm," Susan said. "They seem to need our help, and they are not too far from here."

"And tomorrow, Queen Susan?"

Susan smiled. "Well, tomorrow I expect we shall tackle the crops. And I shall help Hana with the farm chores she has told me she will need to do tomorrow."

Hana gave what almost looked like a smile. "Queen Susan, milking a cow?"

Susan laughed. "Do you honestly find it that hard to believe? What I do not know already, I shall learn."

Willow reached down into the stream and placed her hand in the water, letting it run through her fingers. Her actions reminded Susan very much of Lucy whenever they had encountered a stream of this sort, and she felt a brief stirring in her heart at the thought.

"But Queen Susan," said Willow in a low voice, which Susan nearly did not hear over the noises of the others playing in the water nearby. "You did not do this sort of work where you come from, did you?"

Susan smiled. "Not quite, no."

"What was your kingdom like, there?"

And Susan suddenly understood. The Narnians believed that she and her siblings had been Kings and Queens in England, in Earth, just as they were so here. It was all she could do to hold back laughter.

"Oh, Willow," she said, her smile wide. "I was not a Queen in that country."

Willow's eyes widened. Susan could tell that Hana was listening, though the Dwarf woman's eyes were fixed elsewhere. "You were not? But then… what were you?"

"I was merely a girl. A common schoolgirl, from a common family."

"And King Peter, King Edmund and Queen Lucy?"

"Common boys and a common girl."

Willow gasped. It seemed that she had not even imagined that Susan could be anything other than a Queen in her other world. It was actually rather flattering, Susan thought. But she could not help the feeling of dread in her heart that arose whenever she thought of England. She pushed it down, forcing herself to focus on the conversation at hand.

"But then you  _did_  do these things, Your Majesty," said someone at Susan's elbow. She turned her head and found Clover sitting meekly beside her. "If you were… of common blood..."

Susan shook her head. "No, Clover. You see, where I come from, the world is not like it is here. There are large cities, larger than any in Narnia, perhaps even larger than any in Calormen. And the people there make great machines, and they fight many wars. And trade is great and plentiful, when there is peace. But most of us must live in cities, and our cities are made of metal and stone." She sighed. "It has its beauties, just as any country does… but not all of us can have the experiences to learn these things. Therefore I had never touched a cow before yesterday; much less help build a house. In England, I am but a girl, a child, and I can do very little."

"So things are very different," said Clover softly.

"Yes," she replied. And then she smiled. "But Narnia is teaching me; you are all teaching me."

She couldn't help but wonder how much longer she would have to learn before she would have to return and find herself locked up in classrooms once more; a commoner, a schoolgirl, a child.

Later they left the water and made their way back to where Old Badger lived, to say goodbye and promise that they would bring him new supplies. He still looked very much preoccupied, and he exchanged some more anxious words with Hana, but he looked better and healthier than he had when they had first arrived, and it made them all feel some relief.

As they walked on their way back to the road, Susan thought she saw a familiar shape up in a tree. She left the group slightly to look at it more closely. It was a fruit, slightly elongated at the top yet rounded at the bottom.

"It is a pear," she said with some disbelief. She had not seen pears in Narnia before; but this one looked quite ripe. She picked it.

A Faun named Surbius walked up to her. "Is all well, Your Majesty?"

"Oh, indeed it is," she replied with a smile. "I have found a pear."

Surbius looked at her in confusion. She raised the fruit she had in her hand and he frowned slightly, puzzled.

"That is a fruit only birds eat, Your Majesty," he said. "It is not customary for people."

"It is not? In my country we call it a pear."

"A what?" Willow and Ash had joined them, followed by the dogs and the other Fauns.

"A pear," she said. "Or at least it seems like one." Carefully wiping it against the sleeve of her dress, she took a bite. It was a bit harder than most pears, but it was sweet nonetheless, and she smiled at the familiar taste that she had not even realized she had missed. "Oh, it definitely is a pear."

Slowly, the Narnians took other pears from the tree and began to try them, perplexed at first but then truly enjoying the taste. They picked a few more to take to those who had remained in Pebble. It was not until many hours later that it occurred to Susan that she had just been responsible for the discovery of the pear in Narnia.


	7. Chapter 7

The company was silent as they entered the forest, their faces chilled from the wind hitting their faces as they rode. But they were forced to move slowly through the trees, for the roots and closely entangled branches made it difficult for them to pass swiftly. Ahead of the group went Roc and Noc, the two eldest Morkin brothers, riding ponies that had been left without riders by those who had remained in Pebble with Susan.

Edmund watched the two dwarves carefully as they guided their ponies through the forest. They were discussing something in low, vehement voices, glancing here and there now and then, or pointing at certain trees.

"Think they've gone and gotten us lost, Sire?"

He smiled with some amusement. "I have no idea, Borik." Rising his voice, he addressed the two before him. "Is there a problem?"

The two dwarves started and turned, their brown eyes wide. "N- No, King Edmund," said the eldest, rather hesitantly. "We were merely discussing…"

Noc seemed to have more courage in him. "Is it truly prudent to meet them face-to-face? They might hear us coming."

"I did not intend to do so," said Edmund. "We will stop some distance away and set camp undercover."

"And if they watch this part of the woods?" beside him, Witrow had his eyes narrowed as he sniffed the ground. "There have been feet here, and recently."

Edmund straightened up in his horse, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Be prepared," he said to everyone, his voice only as loud as was absolutely necessary. "Archers, stand ready."

The archers held their bows at the ready and they advanced in this manner, veering slightly to the left of the direction of the caves. They were only halfway through the forest when Witrow began to growl softly.

"Sire, there has been movement here, and recently," he said.

Only a second after he had spoken, one of the dwarves was knocked forwards onto his pony's mane with a sharp clang, as an arrow hit the armor covering his back. He gave a low cry of pain, and then arrows were raining down upon them. Edmund struggled to move his horse and find cover. The arrows seemed to be coming from all sides… could they really have been surrounded without noticing? He cursed himself for not expecting them sooner.

The archers were shooting wildly, and Witrow and a boar charged towards the left side. There was a squeal and a pained cry as they collided with their enemies. Edmund shouted over the din, calling everyone to go left, scattering their enemies as they charged. All around them, arrows made noise as they bounced off armor, and one of the horses screamed as it was grazed, nearly bolting in the wrong direction.

Somehow, they managed to escape the main circle of attackers. Something flew at Edmund suddenly, striking in the direction of his face over and over again. He managed to ward it away with his sword, realizing that it was a raven, but he already had various scratches from its talons on his hands and the side of his face. They were not deep, but they were extremely irritating.

After ten minutes of frenzied escape, Edmund finally called the company to a halt. They seemed to have left their enemies behind them; perhaps they had wounded two or three of them, but no one could recall seeing any dead. On their side, thankfully, the situation was the same. The pony's wound was not deep, and though one Dwarf had an arrow in his shoulder, he insisted that with proper bandaging he would still be of use, since it was not his sword arm. How much of this was merely the Dwarf's own pride, Edmund did not know, but at least none had been too severely wounded.

They seemed to have reached a rocky patch in the middle of the forest, which Edmund thought might give them some advantage should they be ambushed once more. They were slightly raised over ground level, and there was space to place provisions and take cover during the night. He sat on a rock, wiping the small drops of blood from the scratches on his face on a rag, while the others set down their supplies, calmed the horses and ponies, and tended to the wounded. Borik, who was his second in command, having been one of the few Black Dwarves who had supported Aslan when He returned and was quite a skillful warrior despite his dislike of riding, joined him presently upon the rock, stroking his beard absentmindedly as he looked up at the trees around them.

"The animals say there's no scent of anything that Talks having walked by here recently," he said gruffly.

"Let us hope that means we have some advantage," said Edmund. He scowled as he put the rag away. "At least we now know at what point the forest is theirs."

"What next, then, Sire?"

He sighed and stood up, watching as Witrow climbed to the top of the pile of rocks and began to lick the mud off his forepaws. "We must speak to them."

"Forgive me, Sire, but they do not seem to be in much of a mood for parley."

Edmund grinned slightly at his remark. "No, they do not. But it must be done. I would much rather achieve some sort of negotiation than start a violent attack on our own fellow Narnians."

"These are not Narnians," Borik growled under his breath. "No Narnian makes his fellows suffer the way these have."

"I agree with you, Borik," said Edmund grimly. "But as King, I must give them a chance, no matter how unforgiveable their actions have been."

"When shall we approach them, then?"

"Once we have rested for some hours; it should be time for a meal soon," he said. "By then their anger will hopefully have been appeased to some level. Perhaps one of the centaurs can go deliver the message and a meeting may be arranged."

Borik hesitated. "With all due respect, Sire," he began, and then seemed to stop himself.

"What is it?"

Borik looked uncomfortable. "Perhaps it would be best if I was to go," he said.

"I cannot put you at that risk, Borik," said Edmund. "You are too indispensable."

"Sire, I am the only Black Dwarf of this group," said Borik, his expression firm. "We know that these Knights of Stone have many Black Dwarves, and given what we have seen, they are dwarves that were known for their affiliation or at least indirect support of the White Witch during the Long Winter. If Your Majesty wishes to send someone who will be able to negotiate with them and set a meeting, it would not be in your best interests to send one from a race that has long opposed the side that these people have been on in the past. Nay, Sire. As a Black Dwarf, I might be able to gain some trust on their part."

Edmund considered this. It was obvious that the Dwarf was right, but he still felt rather unsure about sending one of his people into a situation that could prove deadly, especially since they knew very little about the rebels.

"Are you absolutely sure you wish to do this?" he asked Borik.

Borik grinned slightly from under his large beard. "Indeed I am, Sire. Perhaps it shall also gain me some honor after the sins my kin have committed in the past."

Edmund frowned, momentarily confused as to what the Dwarf meant.

"Narnia does not forgive easily, Your Majesty," said the Dwarf, his eyes dark as he stared off into space. "It will take years for the people to forgive the Black Dwarves for their betrayal, even if it was not all of us who were a part of it."

"I understand," said Edmund in a low voice, and meeting Borik's gaze, he could tell that the Dwarf understood what he meant.

...

The music began with what almost felt like an explosion of sound. Lucy started with surprise where she stood, laughing as she realized what had happened. Beside her, Queen Amisse smiled with amusement.

East of the Festival camp, many tables had been set for everyone. They were not all tables from Cair Paravel; some had been manufactured especially for the event, and others had been brought by the Narnian families themselves so that they could take part of the great party that was to take place that night, midway through the Summer Festival. The tables were laden with food and wine, and the Grey Fauns, along with some dwarves and a group of Calormene musicians and an Archenland piper who had come along as well, were playing a merry tune together, which echoed loud and clear. Lucy was positive that even if she were within the palace itself, she would be able to hear the tune with the same clarity that she would have if she was standing directly in their midst.

A great mass of people had emerged from the tents and were now taking their seats, the monarchs already seated. Lucy and Amisse made their way towards them, knowing that they must be seated soon so they might enjoy supper and the show that was to take place. There was great joy in everyone's face, in the very way they moved… Lucy could see the Fauns dancing even as they took platters of food to serve at the tables. There was laughter everywhere, melding perfectly with the beautiful music.

As they parted towards their respective tables, Queen Amisse touched Lucy's elbow lightly, drawing closer to speak in a low voice over the noise of the music and the people.

"I just wanted to say," she said in Lucy's ear. "Thank you for what you did for Cadoc the other day." Her eyes were downcast. "I know what my husband asked of your Royal Brother and I must apologize for him."

Lucy shook her head gently. "It is quite all right," she said with a gentle smile. "We understood Galma's concerns… we were only glad to help."

"Still, it need not have been your responsibility," said Amisse gently. "We are most thankful, though my husband will never admit it himself."

She drew away before Lucy could reply, and left towards her seat beside the King of Galma. Lucy could not help but feel bad for her. She wished it was possible for the Queen of Galma to sit beside her... perhaps it could be arranged later in the night.

The show began, as customary, with ten Fauns dancing their strange, beautiful dance upon the circle of grass between the tables, accompanied by some dryads who were not too shy as to perform so openly before an audience. Lucy could tell that some of the visitors still felt rather oddly about the strange variety of creatures that existed in Narnia, but the merriment and the beauty of what they had seen had nearly made them forget how different it was. The dance was followed by a song, sung by three Talking Nightingales, which was quite melancholy compared to the music that had been played before; but it moved the hearts of many, and many of the audience were moved to tears.

Galma produced their artists afterwards, with poetry and dancing. Lucy wished that the women who were dancing had more opportunity to join them in merriment, but they were servants and were often too occupied in their tasks to socialize. Their dance was lovely, and was followed by the playing of a strange form of Galman harp that the Narnians had never seen, played by an old knight.

Archenland then joined in with great songs sung by skillful bards, some of epic nature, such as the legend of King Olvin and others causing the audience to laugh so hard a few choked on their supper, such as the tale of the Twirling Knight. This was followed by more dancing, and even some juggling on the part of a very skilled Archenlander.

It was the Calormene people, however, that had come fully equipped for a night of entertainment. They had brought along their own musicians, who played the strange mystical music that was traditional within Calormen, and began their act with a display of conjurers, who made magic tricks that awed the crowd.

But it was not, perhaps, the best choice when it came to the audience they were presenting their magic before. These were Narnians who had come to consider magic as directly related to the White Witch, and Lucy could see many retreating or hiding their faces, shaking with fear, as the show unfolded before them. Peter glanced at her and she knew he shared her fervent hope that no Narnians would feel offended by the magic tricks; in Calormen it was a mere art that attracted all sorts of admirers. In Narnia, however, it was a source of fear and hatred.

Despite this, however, the Narnians managed to remain composed, and were soon distracted by the sword-swallowers, who awed the audience of every country with their skill. They juggled fire, as well, and then great acrobats and contortionists danced and moved to the music in ways that none had believed possible. As she sat at the table, barely eating her supper and busying herself with clapping energetically after each number, Lucy realized that the event was very reminiscent of a circus.

The show ended with great applause and much cheering on everyone's part. The Fauns and dryads then returned, joining in dance and inviting anyone else who was willing to dance as well. Lucy finished her supper as hastily as a Queen could permit herself to do, and then joined the other Fauns in dancing in the firelight.

The seats were soon rearranged, and Lucy's seat was quickly occupied by Prince Jarrash, whose eyes were nearly dancing as he turned to Peter, a smile on his face.

"Your people are quite astoundingly talented," said Peter, with true admiration. "I am surprised and in a way rather envious that Calormen has been gifted with talent both in the battlefield and in the arts."

"You flatter me, High King," said the Prince, but his smile was proud. "The Narnians are quite remarkable as well. Though the customs are vastly different, the feeling in ones heart when moved by the music is very much the same."

Peter smiled. He could not help but like the Calormene Prince, and he felt some sadness remembering Dorick's words about how Jarrash was not likely to survive long enough to become the Tisroc of his Empire.

Jarrash leaned back in the chair. "The years shall make Narnia and irresistibly beautiful realm," he said pensively. "For if this is how she is when just recovering from a time of much suffering, my breath is taken away at the thought of what she might become."

Peter smiled. "Those are the hopes of me and my brother and sisters," he said. "Our people are hardworking and willing; we hope to lead this country to much splendor during our lifetimes."

Jarrash nodded. "It takes but a man with vision to lead a country to its glory," he said. "Ardeeb Tisroc was a man of this sort. It is said that the True Empire was born under his hands, for he had much love of the finer arts and sciences. It was in this way that Tashbaan was built, and much of the lands around it. Our splendor we owe to him and those who worked under his reign."

Peter smiled. "You are a visionary, Jarrash."

Jarrash laughed softly. "Perhaps, but I believe Ishamiel is more of that sort. I am one who reads history, not one who seeks to interpret it. Ardeeb Tisroc's achievements are of common knowledge."

"I am afraid my brother has always had more talent when it comes to learning history than I have," Peter admitted, taking a sip of wine, a small smile on his lips. "I have learned that his council is often more sensible than mine." He raised his glass to the Prince. "Let us drink to the friendship between Narnia and Calormen. May it last forever."

Jarrash acknowledged his words and they drank. As he swallowed the wine, the Prince turned his eyes to the large group of dancers that now nearly completely covered the clearing in between the tables. Peter caught sight of Lucy, dancing happily, her arms locked with those of two other dryads. Though she was the smallest of the group, she seemed to draw ones' eyes instantly.

The Calormene Prince seemed to notice. "Your Sisters are quite remarkable, High King," he said.

"Thank you," said Peter. "I am proud to be of their blood."

"Calormen would benefit greatly if she had a Queen of such noble presence," said Jarrash. "Perhaps, after some years have passed and you find it befitting, some sort of arrangement might be made."

It took Peter a moment to understand what the Prince was proposing, but when he did he felt fiery rage grow in his stomach. It took every ounce of his self control to not reply with anger to the man who sat beside him. Jarrash, however, did not seem to notice, busy in peeling a tangerine he had found among the fruits that had been set in a dish before them.

"I do not believe my sisters are yet of age for such considerations," Peter said stiffly.

Jarrash smiled as he divided the tangerine in half. "I am quite aware of this, High King," he said. "For this reason I have merely suggested it. A union of this sort would benefit both our countries greatly."

Peter could not find the words to express himself. He had not considered the fact that other countries might want his sisters as Queens for themselves. He had, of course, supposed that when the time came his sisters, and he himself most likely, might wish to marry and have their own children, but the political implications of it had not even occurred to him.

"Forgive me, High King Peter, but I must excuse myself," said Jarrash suddenly, glancing towards the table where most of his people were. "My people require my presence."

Somehow, he managed to reply, and the Prince left the table. Peter sat still, almost frozen in shock.

"The Prince is right, Your Majesty," said a voice beside him. He started and turned to see Dorick, sitting quietly beside him. "I am afraid I overheard your conversation… as your royal advisor, I must say that it is an important consideration to keep in mind. We are quite lucky that Calormen is interested."

Peter's eyes widened with surprise and rage. "You speak as if we are to sell my sisters to another country in exchange of an alliance!" he hissed.

"That is the way it works, generally, Sire," said Dorick, rather taken aback by his tone. "Your sisters cannot remain unmarried forever. In a year or two Queen Susan will be eligible for marriage, and soon after Queen Lucy shall follow."

"What if they do not wish to marry?"

Dorick stared at him with some skepticism, taking a sip of wine before he replied. "They must marry, Sire, and so must you, unless Narnia is to remain heirless. And the Queens' marriage is an important, nigh unbreakable, alliance with other countries. It is an opportunity that must be taken advantage of."

"I shall not allow my sisters to be wed merely because it is in the country's best interests!"

"Forgive me for my words, Sire," said Dorick rather hesitantly. "But you are High King. It is within your duties to oversee these things, and perhaps to sacrifice such wishes in the name of Narnia."

...

Peter and Lucy shared tea together in his tent before she had to leave. He hid his worries for the future under a heavy curtain of exhaustion which threatened to make him fall over, but the hot tea burnt his tongue ever so slightly and he could not help but feel the questions rising up in his mind uncontrollably.

"Why has Aslan sent us here, Lucy?"

She looked up, surprised at his sudden profound question. He could see the spark of realization in her eyes when she realized that this was really what had been bothering him all this time; but he had only just realized how to put it in words.

"Because Narnia needed us," she replied simply.

He set down the teacup on the small table and frowned. "I do not feel ready for the weight of the responsibilities."

"Maybe that is why He chose us," said Lucy. "We are not ready, but we will learn."

"You believe He sent us here to learn?"

She nodded, her expression serious. "I believe we are here to learn and for Narnia to learn from us."

There was silence for a moment, and they both finished their tea before Peter spoke again.

"What if we fail?"

"We will not."

Lucy's words were so simple and full of belief that Peter felt that he believed them also. He wondered at the trust she had; she had always had more faith than the rest of them, and even more so when it came to Aslan, but it never ceased to astonish him. She inspired faith with the mere presence of her own.

They set down the teacups and Lucy grasped her cloak, pulling it over her shoulders.

"Lucy," he said, as she prepared to leave. "Do you sometimes feel as if you are sacrificing your childhood for a cause meant for people much older than you?"

For a moment he feared that she would think he meant only her and would take it as condescension, but by her expression he quickly realized that she knew what he had meant. A small smile appeared on her lips, but there was more sadness than joy in it, threaded with a strange kind of beauty he could not identify. It was the look that appeared in her eyes every time she spoke of Aslan.

Her words were soft. "I left my childhood behind me the day I stepped through the Wardrobe, Peter."

She turned and left the tent, the flap closing behind her, the noise of her footsteps fading in the night.

He undressed and turned out all the candles except those by his cot. He could hear the footsteps of the Guards outside his tent. It would be impossible for another attack to happen unnoticed, the way it had before. As he pulled the blankets over himself, he reached sideways to the small dresser and retrieved the two scrolls they had received earlier that day. In the candlelight, he began to read them again.

_My Brother:_

_Forgive me if this letter is painfully short. I am afraid that the intensity of activity here in Pebble has me occupied nearly every moment of the day, and it is difficult to find minutes to spare and send a letter back to you. It is our third day here, and all is going as planned. The construction is nearly finished, the herds have all been gathered and the crops have nearly all been replanted. I must say that I have learned more in these past few days than I have in all my years of school in England (I am glad that that is not an experience I will have to repeat). We replanted the dryad trees and they are now safe and feeling much better; despite everything that has happened to them, the Trees remain our staunch supporters, though these had never set eye on us before today. I am sure that, given the pace we have been working at, we shall soon be finished. I have heard back from Edmund, but he has enclosed a letter for you also, so I shall not waste time relaying his words when you shall have them in your hands shortly._

_On the topic of your feelings regarding your Brotherly duties within our Family, please do not allow guilt to overtake you. It has been_ your _capable hands, more than any others', which have guided us and this country to the place it is now. Your protectiveness has not so much hindered as it has made us feel protected when crisis struck, and neither I nor our Brother and Sister blame you for your attitudes regarding our responsibilities during this time. You shall receive no forgiveness, for no blame is upon your shoulders. As I work in this small village on the other side of the country, having the knowledge that you worry about me constantly is a source of comfort to me; it has been years since I have ever spent my time so truly cut off from the rest of you, and had it not been for your letters and the knowledge of your steady advice I might have been stricken with grief. I do not intend to repeat these words to you, dear Brother, for they would be needlessly dramatic despite the truth they hold, so hold them dearly to your heart, for I do not intend to flatter you in this manner very often._

_Relay to our friend King Lune that if he must recur to gambles about time to halt his infatuation with his mead, then he is very much lost to us, and that I pray with all my heart that his twin children do not inherit his love for it, or there shall be no mead left in Archenland for the three of them. It seems to me that my pen has indeed run longer than I thought it would, and I already hear the calls to continue in our efforts once more. Give my love to our Sister; I miss you both dearly._

_Your good sister,_

_Susan._

_My brother:_

_All is transpiring well here within the forest, as we await the time in which the rebels have agreed to meet us. It strikes me that they do not have much experience in this sort of negotiations (though how could they?), given that they have invited us directly to their front door: the clearing before their cave. We fervently hope that this is not a trap, but I do not believe it is very likely, given the nature of these people. Borik has proved very useful to us; having a Black Dwarf negotiate in our name seems to have appeased the rebels somewhat. Two other Black Dwarves met him, along with a panther that Witrow has already marked as his if a battle comes to pass._

_Your letter held very little detail about the happenings within the Festival; I know, therefore, that the politics of the affair must be extremely irritating. Have strength, Brother, I shall be back soon._

_Your good brother,_

_Edmund._

...

From where she sat near one of the small windows of Hana's house, Susan could see the Hare family, Ash and two Fauns working on what was left of the Hares' crops. More than half of their vegetables had been torn out of the ground, disregarding how ripe they were, and the most of the ripe ones had been stolen. The remaining vegetables had been carefully replanted, and new ones were now being planted in an attempt to replenish their stocks on some level. The rest of the group had gone to do the same work beside the construction of the Birdel house and another farm on the outskirts of the village.

Only Susan, Hana, Willow and Clover's mother remained, working very hard on the long task of pickling and drying the vegetables and fruit that they had not been able to replant. All the farms of the area had sent what had been unintentionally harvested to the house. They had set out most of the rye and wheat to dry upon the roof of the house, where they hoped it would remain untouched. Some fruits that Susan did not recognize were also there.

Inside the house, a large pot held cucumbers, onions, asparagus, carrots and some other vegetables boiling in salt brine. Old Badger had sent them what remained of his many glass jars, which was quite a large number, which Willow was busy washing with hot water. Hana was placing the vegetables in salt brine within the already washed jars. The room was hot from the bright fire and Susan felt that she was sweating as she stirred the large pot before returning to the smaller jars, where she poured honey that the squirrels from nearby had procured and stored fruit inside them. "Sweet preserves," Willow had said gleefully as she wiped a drop of honey from the side of one of the jars and licked it off her finger. "This shall be quite delicious."

"Do you think it will be enough, Hana?" Clover's mother said worriedly. "It  _is_ a lot of food, but what if it doesn't last?"

"It shall be a winter of simple meals," said Hana grimly as she struggled to close a jar. "If it is a natural winter, that is. If it is not… well, then, food won't make much of a difference."

Her words had an ominous tone, and Susan saw the others shrink back into their task, looking almost fearful. It was time to understand exactly what this was all about.

"What do you mean, not a natural winter?"

Willow and the Hare glanced at her and then looked away, the same look in their eyes. Hana did not look up, continuing to fill a new jar with cucumbers and onions. There was silence for a moment, and then the Dwarf woman began to speak.

"You don't know what the Long Winter was like, Queen Susan," she said in her low, almost guttural voice. "Blizzards every other day, and a cold that crushed the bones and stabbed at the stomach like a knife. There is little more terrible for simple people like us Narnians than a Winter that lasts forever, but the White Witch found ways to make it all the worse.

"We was hunted for sport, in those days," the Hare said in little over a whisper.

Hana nodded, her lips set in a grim line. "But the worst of all, they tried to take our beliefs. And they almost did it, too. Word went about saying that Aslan had abandoned us, that there was no salvation for Narnia. And then there were more whispers, whispers that maybe Aslan  _didn't even exist_ …

"I was lucky. My father was one of the few who remembered Narnia as she was, before the Witch took over. He told us stories of Spring and Aslan, and the Prophecy, and made sure we would always know the truth." She set down the jar on the table with a loud noise. "They killed him for it.

"T'was many families, 'specially the Black Dwarf clans, that lost hope and joined the enemy. Soon after went lots of the satyrs and even some of the Fauns. Folks just gave up. I expect they can't be blamed for caving; one never knows how strong one is until one is tested. And Narnia's faith was tested… oh, it was tested thoroughly. People stopped believing, and made themselves forget. They said it made them safer, but it really just made them weaker. Until they began shunning those of us who did believe. My husband was one of the few that fought to keep the memory of the Lion alive. Until this day I don't know if it was the Witch herself or if it was turned Narnians who did the job."

She looked up at Susan, her eyes like deep wells of darkness. "I'm sorry, Queen Susan, but after everything I've lived I can't bring myself to think that the winter has gone forever. I can't bring myself to believe that four Kings and Queens can save Narnia. I know the efforts you have put into this and I am thankful, as are all here, I am sure… but you can't redeem Narnia. We have been through too much and we have sinned too much." Hana shook her head. "Aslan tested Narnia, and Narnia failed. I won't be surprised if the Winter returns. We brought it upon ourselves."

Susan stared at her in concern, the jars of fruit and honey on the table before her, forgotten. She met Willow's wide, frightened eyes, and then turned back to Hana.

"We will not permit Narnia to fall into any other hands again, Hana," she said calmly but firmly. "That is exactly why we are here now, to help you in your time of need. You need not live through such horrible times again."

Hana looked at her with something similar to pity. "But Queen Susan… these are times of peace. Neither you nor your siblings know the pain of living through times like those. Small battles are nothing compared to the horror of war, the oppression of losing, the fear that comes with not knowing if you will live through the day, the knowledge that you are not safe within the very walls of your own home-"

"Actually, I do know," Susan interrupted, in a quiet voice. She met Hana's eyes. "The country from where I come was at war when I came to Narnia. We were forced to leave our homes because they were attacking our cities, and they feared that it would all be destroyed. My father went to fight…" she hesitated for a moment, forcing the emotion to leave her voice. "And as far as we know, he has not returned yet. We  _do_  know the fear, the pain, the oppression. We come from different worlds, but our sorrows have been the same."

Silence had fallen within the small main room of the Morkins' house. Susan sat on the stool but somehow felt both taller and smaller all at once. Hana's expression had changed; perhaps she had seen the tears that had threatened to make their way out of Susan's eyes. Susan had already been old enough to understand everything the war implied, back in England. She knew she and Peter had suffered the most, being the two out of the four that fully understood that their father was most likely not to return.

She held back a shiver as she realized that she had not missed her father ever since she had reached Narnia.

"But you understand, then, perhaps," said Hana, almost softly. "Why it is so hard for so many of us to simply accept this time meant for prosperity… there is very little enjoyment when one dreads that one might be forced to return to that life at any moment."

"I understand," said Susan, and she could hear her own voice saying almost the same thing to Edmund in the front porch, only a few nights ago.

...

_My dear sister:_

_It is almost dull, being in the Festival without your presence! We all miss you dearly. I wish you could have been here to watch the feast that took place the other night; I danced so much I feared my feet would crumble beneath me! But what you are doing in the West sounds equally exciting… it must be thrilling to visit so many new places, build things and herd cows! You know I have always been eager to do such things; if only we had had a chance to do it in England! Perhaps there is hope yet… a lifetime in Narnia gives space to many new experiences._

_Speaking of the feast has brought an idea to mind. In your letter, you spoke of how the villagers are gathering provisions and dividing them in equal rations for each family. Have you considered the possibility of a celebration once all the work is done? It might help increase the morale of the villagers after everything they have been through, and truly heighten the feeling of triumph that comes with a work well finished. If you do decide to carry out this idea, I expect you to tell its story in full detail once you return!_

_Our Brother is doing well; or at least as well as he ever does. He worries himself over the both of you, and with political and administrative concerns, it only heightens this anxiety. But it seems to me that he has been feeling better lately. As always, I do my best to assist him in anything he might need. But you know him… his concerns often cause him more anxiety than they do to most people._

_Do let me know if you are partial to my idea! Send my loving regards to all those around you. I wish I could meet Willow and Ash; they seem to possess quite entertaining characters. And Hana sounds quite sweet and inspiring._

_Your loving Sister,_

_Lucy._

Susan folded the letter after the fourth time reading it. She had read the second paragraph out loud to the others shortly after they had finished moving in the Birdel brothers' new furniture into their new house. It was a smaller home than they had had originally, but it was sturdy and would last. Beside it, new seeds had been planted, which would hopefully be harvested during Autumn, ensuring some more sustenance for them.

There had been a round of applause and much hand shaking, and the dwarves thanked all those who had helped them with gruff, rather uncomfortable expressions. It was obvious that they were moved, though not sure how to express their emotions, not used to being surrounded by such a large group of people. But the group had understood, and there was much joy after Susan's reading of the letter. Though there were still some more matters to attend to within Pebble, the worst of the work was over, and they all agreed with Lucy's words: there was much cause for celebration.

Firstly, though, Susan was approached by two of the dwarves that had come with her from Cair Paravel.

"Your Majesty," they said in low voices, looking rather concerned. "There is still an issue that must be addressed."

"What issue are you referring to?" Susan asked, lowering her voice.

"There is still much wood left over from the trees that fell. And the dogs say that there are even more trees that they found fallen over in the forest."

"And you have an idea of what we might do with it?"

The dwarves looked grim. One of them spoke, his voice grave. "Queen Susan, as efficient as King Edmund may be in defeating the rebels, Pebble is not yet truly safe from danger. Their proximity to the Western Mountains gives much space for sinister attacks."

"It is well known that all the evils that befell Narnia came from the West," added the other Dwarf solemnly.

"Perhaps the wood could be used to raise a barrier; some sort of fence would do. It may not prove as actual protection before an attack, but it will show that the village is protected and perhaps be a source of confidence for the villagers."

"That sounds reasonable," said Susan. "If there is enough wood and nails to carry it out, then I do not see why not."

The dwarves bowed and thanked her.

"This village, however, requires some organization so that it may protect itself. Its proximity to the border does leave it quite exposed," she murmured as they left.

The villagers and the visitors from Cair Paravel met the following day at sundown in the grassy land beside the newly constructed house. The barriers had been erected; they were fences that stood little over Susan's waist, but they served their purpose, surrounding the village and blocking the Western side of the crossroads, a locked gate the only way of entry, which would be controlled by the people of Pebble. As the sun set behind the mountains, they arranged chairs and tables on the grass, decorating the trees nearby with strings of flowers. Old Badger, with some help from the villagers, the squirrels nearby and even the dryads of the forest had come to visit and enjoy the celebration as well. Every family had brought a small meal to share with everyone from the food they had in their stores: Hana had produced some lovely pastries, the Monkeys had brought piles of wild fruit they had found, the Hares brought a simple salad, the Squirrels had brought nuts, Old Badger had brought one of his last bottles of wine, and the Birdel brothers had managed to bake delicious bread. It would make a simple meal, but the joy and sacrifice behind it made it the most delectable feast any of them had ever had.

As they were all seated, and Gimor produced a fiddle, beginning a merry tune, birds and other creatures who lived nearby and had assisted in one way or other during the reconstruction of the village joined them as well, all bringing their own gifts. Suddenly, the Faun who lived beside the Hare family's home appeared, bearing two of the six large jars of pickled vegetables and one of the three jars of sweet preserves that had been provided to him as part of the ration he had been given, as a thanks for the work he had done for the village. All eyes turned to him as he moved towards the table and set down the large jars.

"I should be giving them all back," he said quietly. "For I know I do not deserve the generosity you have given me. Work done out of guilt should not be rewarded."

There was silence on the table, and even Gimor stopped fiddling. Then the eldest of the Birdel brothers stood up and pulled another chair to the table, making space for the Faun to sit. And after a few minutes of silence, the music began once more and food was passed around. The monkeys and the dryads made garlands of flowers and danced together along with any that would follow, and merry old songs were sung by the villagers. Then stories were told, but only joyful stories, for the happiness in Pebble did not make space for sad memories. Susan told the tale of how she and her siblings had entered Narnia for the first time, and when she was done they all drank to the end of the Winter. Even Hana seemed to smile sincerely as she passed slices of bread to all.

Susan felt herself smiling and found herself unable to stop. She leaned back in her seat and looked up at the moon as it shone brightly in the sky.


	8. Chapter 8

Borik cracked his knuckles as Edmund climbed down the rocky formation where they had set camp. Most of the group was already there, and the others were following behind him. It was early in the afternoon, and they were ready to set out to the meeting with the rebels. One of the centaurs held an olive branch to demonstrate that they came in peace, though his expression was distinctly war-like.

"Ready, Borik?" said Edmund as he hung his sword on his belt.

"Yes, Sire," said the Dwarf, looking around at the rest of them. "I only hope this isn't a trap."

"If it is, we shall know soon enough," said Edmund grimly.

They set out in silence, leaving the horses behind with two soldiers to watch them. Edmund went at the head of the group beside the centaurs and Borik, feeling distinctly uneasy in his stomach. What they were doing was risky, but it needed to be done. He comforted himself by remembering that the rebels weren't particularly skilled in battle, judging from their clumsy shots the day before in the forest, and that they had probably killed most of the skilled ones in the Festival when they had come to murder him and Peter.

They reached the place within the next hour, their mood tense, their stances alert. As soon as they neared the end of the wood, Edmund sent Witrow to investigate. The large feline seemed to blend in perfectly with the foliage, crouching into the bushes without making so much as a slight rustle. He returned after a few minutes.

"All goes according to plan, Sire," he said. "They do have a cave. A rather large one, too, by the smell of it. There's a Minotaur and two Black Dwarves visibly standing guard, but I'm fairly sure there are many more waiting just inside."

Edmund took a deep breath and turned to the others. "Very well," he said, keeping his voice as low as possible. "Do not draw your weapons unless it becomes clear that they mean to kill us. If they suspect treachery on our part we lose all hope of negotiation."

Slowly, Edmund emerged from the shadow of the trees, followed closely by Borik, Witrow, and the centaurs. He instantly heard the Minotaur draw his blade, and saw the two Dwarf sentries point at them with arrows to the string. Above them, a mountain rose into the clouds, its vast rocky wall extending on either side until it was swallowed by the shadows of the trees. The rocky floor they stood on seemed to fall rather steeply into the large, gaping cave behind the rebel sentries. Edmund set his jaw, his gaze hard as he faced the enemy, not moving from where he stood at the edge of the wood.

"We had a deal," he shouted to those whom he knew hid inside the cave.

"Yes, little  _King_ , we do."

The voice was an old, gravelly one, laced with mocking courtesy. A Dwarf emerged from the cave, his long hair and beard grey and matted, his eyes beady and full of dislike as he looked at them. He was dressed in what must have been elegant clothes some decades ago, but were now worn and torn in many places. His gnarled hands were folded in front of him as he slowly approached. Behind him, the sentries followed somewhat menacingly.

"Who are you?" Edmund asked warily.

"My name is Nirthic," said the Dwarf.

"And you are the highest authority in this group?" Edmund kept his expression unreadable, his voice firm but formal.

The Dwarf smiled sardonically. "Not precisely. I am here to lead you inside, where a more…  _thorough_ … conversation might be had."

Edmund hesitated. Going into the unknown cave would be an immense risk to take.

"Don't worry, little King," said Nirthic. "There will be no danger if you do not try anything."

"I tend to suspect treachery from people who resort to poison and assassinations in my sleep."

Nirthic's expression darkened. He scowled. "You may bring four with you. The rest must remain outside."

"Why can we not speak here?"

"Lord Teucer prefers to remain inside," he said. "If you truly wish to negotiate, then you must follow me."

He turned and began to walk towards the entrance of the cave. Edmund glanced at Borik, whose expression was grim.

"With the centaurs behind us there should be considerable safety," Borik said under his breath.

"Not if we are surrounded by hundreds," said Edmund. "We do not even know how many they are."

Borik said nothing, and Edmund saw Nirthic disappear into the cave. With a sharp intake of breath, Edmund called two of the centaurs and Witrow the leopard, ordering them to follow and watch for any sign of treachery. The rest were to remain near the entrance of the cave, and if anything went wrong they were to charge inside.

With a hand on the hilt of his sword, and a silent prayer on his lips, Edmund entered the darkness of the cave, followed by the other Narnians.

As soon as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw large steps leading downwards as the rocky floor gave way and fell many feet lower. The roof of the cave sunk as well, making it impossible to see how deep into the mountain the cave went. He slowly climbed down the steps, grasping his sword tightly and following the golden light of torches that he could see shining ahead.

He met Nirthic at the foot of the steps, and they made way as the centaurs trotted down behind them, the noise of their hooves against stone echoing loudly. The grey-haired Red Dwarf said nothing as he turned and continued through the passage. Around them, the walls of the cave widened and gave way to a large room. Edmund kept his eyes trained on either side to ensure that no one could jump out at them, but besides the large crevices on the walls, there didn't seem to be any other hollow spaces in the stone other than the one they were in.

The room suddenly widened and torches were lit all around them, giving light to the area they were in, though Edmund could see that the cave did go deep into the mountain, for beyond the circle of light all he could see was darkness. It was obvious that people had been living in that cave for some time; old empty barrels, crates and sacks were thrown about, and chairs and blankets were ordered haphazardly all about. Some creatures stood at the edges of the room: dwarves, panthers, ravens, satyrs and even a Faun or two. None of them seemed ready to attack, though Edmund could see spears, swords and bows here and there. Their enemy was armed, but the situation did not seem to be a treacherous one.

They followed Nirthic until they reached a place where the floor seemed to rise up in a sort of dais. On it stood a centaur.

"Lord Teucer," said Nirthic solemnly.

Out of all the creatures Edmund had suspected might have been behind this rebellion against the Narnian Thrones, a centaur had seemed the least possible. Even during the time of the White Witch, not a single centaur had joined her side or supported her in any way. Most of them had retreated to the mountains and lived there in hiding, occasionally leading an attempt to overthrow her government, which was the reason behind the abundance of centaur statues in her palace when Aslan had gone to reawaken them.

Lord Teucer was old, even by centaur standards. Both the fur that covered the horse half of his body and the hair on his head was pale grey, seeming to be falling off in places. His body, once strong and muscular, was now wrinkled and thin with age, and his bright, glazed eyes gleaming with an intensity that betrayed madness.

" _King_  Edmund," Teucer cried, his hooves making noise as they crushed the small rocks on the top of the dais. "It is quite a pleasure to see you with my own eyes after having heard so much about you."

"I would say likewise," Edmund replied. "But I wish our meeting was not under these circumstances."

"Your coming here is a quite a noble act," said Teucer, his lip curling, an ugly grimace forming on his face. "But I do not know what you wish to achieve."

"I am here to give you a chance before we decide to make justice," said Edmund coldly. "You stand accused of the blackmail, raid and destruction of the village of Pebble and surrounding farms, and violent action against the dryads and villagers. Also, you stand accused of the twice attempted murder of the Kings and Queens of the nation of Narnia, exposing you and your followers as traitors to the country and to its people." He paused for effect and then continued. "By Narnian law, the systematic harassment, robbery and brutal mistreatment of the villagers of Pebble force you to stand trial before its people and face imprisonment or exile. The attempted murder of the Kings and Queens is punishable by death, but those directly responsible for the attack have already received their sentence, partly absolving you from this punishment if you repent and willingly submit to the consequences for your other crimes."

There was complete silence in the cave, broken only by Teucer's laughter. "Oh, please," he said scornfully, his voice cracking slightly, as if it was worn with age. "You speak as if you had the right to impart justice upon this land. My people and I have long toiled in this country and with our blood we have earned the right of ownership. We will not bow before false Kings."

"Their Majesties' places in the Thrones were given by Aslan Himself, as do all true Narnians testify," Borik said, fiercely.

"So Aslan believes Narnia a country fit to be ruled by humans, traitors and children?" Teucer spat. "You speak of true Narnians, Dwarf, while you yourself have abandoned your own in favor of a King who would have sold us all to the Witch for the sake of power."

Borik's hand moved and it took all of Edmund's strength to push the Dwarf's hand away from his sword. Borik's eyes were blazing with hatred. "Those who ignored the Lion's Call and forgot the Prophecy for their own commodity are not of my kin, nor are any of the Black Dwarves who joined the Witch's side."

Edmund spoke quickly before Borik got any angrier. "By Aslan's decree, my Brother, my Sisters and I are Kings and Queens of Narnia. It is our duty to protect Narnia from any that may wish to harm her; at this moment in time, you are our greatest threat."

Suddenly, Teucer had stepped off the dais and was facing Edmund, standing a nearly a head over the King, his breath racing from the effort of movement. It was evident that the centaur was sickly and decrepit; as he glanced at Nirthic, who stood nearby, it became clear to him that it was probable that many of Teucer's followers were merely using his authority as a ladder to power. He wondered how many of them had been the Witch's followers until the Pevensies had arrived.

"Let me explain something to you, human child," said Teucer, his rancid breath blowing in Edmund's face as he looked down at him. "You and your siblings stand on a land of Talking Beasts, centaurs, Fauns, satyrs, dwarves, and all other manners of creatures. But Narnia has never been a land of humans. A human child understands nothing of our culture, of our knowledge, of our suffering. A human child cannot represent the people of Narnia. Perhaps in the times before the Long Winter, a human might live among us and call himself our King, but it was a rank brought with respect, with trust given by Narnia's people because they had proved themselves worthy. Humans did not rule like you do so now. You have appeared from another country we know nothing of; you swept in and replaced our ruler through the power of the Lion, not through your own. Narnia does not need usurpers! Narnia does not need humans! Narnia is herself, and now that the Long Winter is over, she must be reclaimed by her own, not by strangers, not by children, and not by traitors!"

His voice had risen to a shout, his face contorted in spasms of anger. "We, the Knights of Stone, have fought for this country all our lives! We have given Narnia our  _blood_ , our  _children_ , our every breath until there was no more to give! We have seen everything we love fall before the Witch, and it was by our efforts that the Narnians stayed together." Around him, a murmur of approval rose from the Talking Beasts, the satyrs, the Fauns and some of the dwarves. "Through our hands our villages were saved from being turned to stone; we were the warriors who protected our people, strong, unwavering, like stone itself! We fought battles we knew we would not win, for the honor of our people, for the glory of knowing that  _we never gave up our freedom_." He inhaled sharply, his tail lashing to the sides in anger as he stomped the ground beneath him with one hoof. "But what did we get when the Winter was over? Nothing. Those of us who suffered for Narnia had to stay where we were while others took the power and pretended they had the authority to wield it." He snorted, his mad eyes fixed on Edmund's. "What have you to say to that,  _King_?"

Edmund held his gaze, unwavering. When he spoke, his voice was calm and steady. "This: your pain is understood, your heroism admirable, your losses lamentable. Any Narnian will testify that what you did during the Long Winter kept hope in the hearts of our people. But your actions in the past months have dishonored you and the cause you have fought for. Since when is Narnia a place where villages must live in fear of their own people? Where houses are burnt to the ground and children are threatened? Since when is Narnia a place where objections are spoken through poison and a sword to one's throat while one is asleep? If you have fought for a free Narnia, a Narnia of peace, why do you so actively work to bring her to her ruin?

"I know the pain of war. I have lived through one. And cruel actions are not justifiable by past cruel actions; I know this, because as you have said, I was once a traitor. But I have repented, and I have suffered the consequences of my actions. This opportunity I give to you: leave this cave and endure trial for your crimes, and the worst will be forgiven. Refuse it, and we shall meet again, but it will be in battle."

Teucer's face remained contorted in anger as he looked at Edmund with pure hatred. "As I said… we will not bow before false justice from false Kings. I have done what must be done for this country, I have taken what must be taken from its people, and I will not shy away from killing usurpers to ensure that Narnia survives. I will not take orders from traitors." He turned and walked away, seeming to limp slightly, his decrepit form disappearing into the shadows of the depths of the cave.

"So be it," said Edmund grimly.

...

"Sire!"

Peter turned almost reluctantly in his tracks. "What is it? I am leaving for the dance; I am late already."

His meeting with Oreius had gone on longer than he had expected, and he did not wish to be late to the dancing in the clearing that happened every night. Especially since he had heard word that Lucy was to sing that evening.

Aurelius bowed. "Forgive me Sire, but we have caught two thieves." Behind him, four guards were dragging two men from Galma, their hands tied behind their backs. "What shall we do with them?"

Peter held back a sigh. He walked towards them and faced the two thieves. They remained with their faces downcast, and he initially thought it was out of shame, but soon realized by the smell that they were too drunk to hold their heads up properly. "What did they steal?" he asked, though he knew the answer already.

"A barrel of beer," said Aurelius, his nose wrinkled in disgust. "We found them in their tent; they must have drunk nearly three thirds of it."

"They are King Reghorius' to punish, not mine," said Peter, and he looked at the criminals. "He shall be the one to decide. Please summon him for me."

The King of Galma arrived just as the vomit of one of the criminals was being cleaned off the edges of one of the carpets of Peter's tent. He grimaced with repulsion as he caught the scent, and immediately turned away to the opposite side of the tent, where Peter sat on a chair and the two drunks kneeled on a grassy patch nearby, flanked by guards.

"What is the meaning of this?" he exclaimed as he saw his men with their hands tied behind their backs.

"I am sorry for summoning you from the festivities, King Reghorius," said Peter courteously. "But this was a matter that required your attention."

"Why are my men bound, High King?" Reghorius exclaimed, affronted.

"They were caught getting drunk with a barrel of beer that they stole from our stores," said Peter.

The King froze, his eyes moving back to his men. He grit his teeth with anger. "And how do you know it was stolen?"

"There is a barrel missing from the group that was meant for tonight," said Peter. "And none of the tents were given such a large amount. Also, there are two witnesses that say they caught sight of your men transporting it to their tent."

Reghorius said nothing, seeming rather at loss as to how to proceed. Peter almost felt pity for him; he had acted so angrily, and had now realized what a shameful situation he was in.

"I am sorry to put you in this position," said Peter calmly. "But Narnian law states that thieves must be punished. So do Galman laws, I am sure, and since they are under your care it would not be my place to give out punishments."

"Quite right," said Reghorius, rather quietly. "I shall take them." He made a motion and the two guards that had followed him took hold of the drunks, beginning to half-lead, half-drag them out of the tent.

"There is, however, a small issue to address," said Peter, before Reghorius could leave as well. He felt rather uncomfortable, but forced himself to say the words that needed to be said. "It should not be that you should suffer shame on behalf of your men; Galma has always proved itself an honest and generous country. It is for this reason that I believe you will understand the reasoning behind my request that you reimburse us with the price of the beer that was drunk by the culprits."

Reghorius hesitated. It was clear that he was not sure how to proceed. Finally, he gave a small bow. "Of course, High King Peter. I apologize on behalf of my men. This will not happen again.'

As the King left, Peter could not help a triumphant smile from forming on his lips, despite the stench of vomit that was slowly permeating the tent despite the best efforts of the poor Fauns that were trying to clean the mess.

...

Lucy sang a song that night, in the center of the clearing where the Fauns and dryads danced. It was not accompanied with music from any instruments, and there was no dancing while she sang. She merely stood and intoned words in a language that Peter eventually recognized as Old Narnian, a tongue that was no longer spoken anywhere, and was known by very few.

Yet there was something moving about her words, though he could not understand more than a few, and the way she stood with her arms slightly outstretched, her face upturned towards the stars as her lips formed the beautiful melody that was mournful and joyful at the same time. It transmitted such happiness that Peter felt as if it pained him, and he suddenly realized that there were tears in his eyes. In that moment, he felt as if he was the only one in the clearing and there was nothing around him but the distant shores of the Eastern Sea, the crashing waves that almost sounded like a lion's roar, the golden moonlight making the horizon gleam as if he was seeing a bright land beyond the waters, and Lucy's enchanted melody surrounding him, enveloping him, changing him.

That night, as he pulled the sheets over himself, he hesitated. Around him, the murmur of people had died down and he could only hear the ordinary noises of the peaceful, windy night, and the echoes of Lucy's song in her mind.

Slowly, he pushed the sheets off his body and knelt on the ground, memories of his mother's words to him when he was a small child crossing his mind. He remembered her hands on his and the way he had laid his chin on the mattress because he was too small to lean his elbows on it.

"I've forgotten the words," he murmured softly as he closed his eyes, his voice, for the first time in a long time, sounding more English than Narnian. "And somehow, I don't think the words would be enough to say everything I have to say. But I need this, don't I? This is why I'm here. To finally understand."

And kneeling at the side of his bed, Peter prayed.

 


	9. Chapter 9

"And you are sure that this cave is the same as theirs?"

The Morkin brothers looked at each other and then looked back at Edmund, nodding rather nervously.

"I think so," said the eldest. "It's deep enough to reach that depth. It would only take a few hours to discover… if we're remembering correctly it should intersect with the other perfectly. We think we've been into that cave before."

Edmund raised an eyebrow. "And you did not mention this days ago because…?"

Roc and Noc looked at each other and then at the ground, looking rather awkward. It was Roc who finally spoke. "We went exploring in those caves when we were children, and our mother had forbidden us to do so… we haven't spoken of it since and we weren't quite sure…"

"And you are sure that they do not know of this cave?"

"Yes," said Noc. "It's hidden in a way that makes it look like it's just a crevice in the wall. It's rather high off the ground but the jump is possible."

"And it will prove invaluable in a battle," Borik put in, looking at Edmund, who nodded and then put his hands together in front of him, touching his fingertips as he immersed himself in his thoughts.

Finally he spoke, some minutes later. "We ought to send a group in to explore first, but we do not have that time, if our friends are as predictable as I think they are." He inhaled sharply and straightened up, his eyes clear and determined. "Roc and Noc, you will lead me and a third of our company to the caves. Gather the supplies you need and we shall leave in half an hour."

"Half an hour? Your Majesty!" The Morkins were shocked. "It's too dangerous! There is a waterfall… it will be dusk soon and by the time we reach the caves all will be in complete darkness!"

"We have no choice," said Edmund. "Though not very skillful, they still outnumber us. If my suspicions are correct and we do not do this tonight, we might not stand much of a chance."

The Red Dwarves' eyes widened and they soon ran off to find the things they needed. Borik met Edmund's gaze.

"Are you going to ask me if I am sure about this?" Edmund said wryly.

The Dwarf grinned. "Nay, Sire. I agree with you completely. I was merely wondering what you want me to do."

Night fell over the forest and the camp was surrounded by the noise of insect life. Above the trees, the moon had retreated behind a heavy curtain of clouds, making the night all the darker. Tents had been set up between the hollows in the rocky hill, and the only lights visible were one or two candles now and then, though these eventually were turned off as all went to sleep. At the bottom of the hill, the horses and ponies rested quietly, occasionally moving to reach a new patch of grass.

Hours passed, and it was well after midnight that any unusual noises were heard. The camp was completely quiet, except for the occasional sound of quiet breathing from those who slept within, and the crickets chirped in an almost subdued way, hidden among the bushes. In the almost complete darkness of the night, broken only by an occasional firefly or the glimmering of some stars between the leaves of the trees, a silent army advanced, guided only by the shining eyes of a panther that slinked in the dark before it.

The horses shifted uncomfortably as they felt unknown presences around them, and one of the ponies made a low noise as it recognized the smell that had brought it pain some days before. But neither sound nor movement could be heard within the tents, and no one saw or heard the silent footsteps of their attackers as they climbed the rocky hill, their movements careful and calculated as they positioned themselves before the tents, bright swords already drawn and arrows on the string as they prepared to strike their enemy. The most skillful of the group were before the tent at the center, which was most likely the King's.

Then, all at once, they struck, pulling the tents open and charging with weapons at the ready. But they were met with empty beds and only three soldiers with their weapons ready and armor on, while on the outside, the rest of the small army from Cair Paravel had climbed the hill behind them and now had them surrounded.

Meanwhile, Edmund was giving slow, careful steps as he walked over the narrow, slippery rock floor. They were on a narrow ledge on the side of the mountain, nearly twelve feet from the ground, which led into the small entrance of a cave behind the raging, icy cold waterfall that fell down the side of the mountain. Edmund tried not to shiver as the spray hit his face, somehow feeling as if it had managed to permeate his armor. Behind him came a Satyr who did not look very happy about the situation, his hooves nearly slipping off the edge with every step he gave, and in front of him went Witrow, his ears flat against his head as he withstood the onslaught of spray, the thought of slipping the least of his worries. In front of them all were Roc and Noc, who had taken along with them two large packs as well as the necessary weapons and armor that Borik had provided.

Edmund breathed a sigh of pure relief as he finally entered the damp cave, reaching out to pull the rather frightened satyr inside. Roc and Noc had pulled out two lanterns, which they handed to the satyr and a Faun, and then pulled out what seemed like an eternal length of thin rope.

They tied it to an old hook by the entrance. "We put it there ourselves, years ago," said Noc proudly, as he tested it. "This way we make sure we won't get lost."

"I sincerely hope we do not," said Edmund, not entirely amused. It had been years since the Morkins had been to this place, and though they seemed rather confident about being able to find the way into the rebels' cave, any number of things could have happened to the passages in the past few years, and they weren't entirely sure if it intersected with that cave or if they had simply remembered wrong. Either way, they had no choice, so Edmund followed the brothers silently as they finally decided on which way to go and began to walk, pulling the rope alongside them so as to leave a trail that would lead them back to the entrance if it was needed.

"Let us hope this does lead to the right place, or we will have to go through the water again," Witrow growled. "This cave smells rotten."

Roc hushed him sharply, hissing that noise is louder in caves and might carry to the other cave. Edmund could tell that the leopard was holding back a snide remark, and held back a smile. There was something oddly amusing about the feline's haughty personality.

They walked for what felt like hours, though the dwarves assured them it was only an effect of the caves and that little over forty minutes had passed, though Edmund did not know how they could possibly be sure of that. The heavy mountain above their heads felt as if it was breathing down their necks and weighing down on their shoulders, and Edmund often found himself having to actively think of something different in order to escape the pressing feeling of claustrophobia as the walls of the cave became narrower and narrower.

Roc and Noc, on the other hand, seemed to be getting happier the deeper they went. Edmund hoped it meant that they had realized that they were right about the passage and that it did indeed lead into the rebels', but he was not entirely sure and he did not feel like asking. However, when Roc and Noc turned to smile gleefully at him, he had to ask.

"Oh, yes," said Roc, nodding earnestly. "Two more turns and we should be able to hear them."

Edmund let out the air he hadn't realized he had been holding in. He nodded and pulled out his sword, a movement that was rather inhibited by the narrowness of the passage and therefore had to be done with much more care, and motioned for everyone else to do so as well. "Not a word from now on," he said. "Does it get any wider later on?"

"Yes, Sire," said Noc. "Very soon."

"Good. I will need to move ahead of you, and then we will listen and wait. On my signal we rush in."

The next few minutes were tense ones. Edmund wished he could look at the sky to know what time it was and know how long they were likely to wait. Part of him feared that they might be too late, or worse, that all the effort had been for nothing and that they were not really in the right cave, or that he had severely miscalculated and Teucer had not decided to attack their camp that night.

But these worries soon vanished as the corridor widened and they began to feel clearer air moving in from in front of them. Edmund moved ahead in the line, and the dwarves put out the lanterns, leaving the rope, which was close to running out, on the ground. Their movements were extremely cautious; the mere sliding of gravel could be loud enough to alert the entire cave of their presence.

Then they heard noises, and Edmund was filled with a deep feeling of gratitude. The dwarves had been right; it most certainly was Teucer's cave. Carefully holding his sword, he moved to sit down near where the corridor stopped and ran out into the wall of the larger cave, some feet higher than the floor. They must be deeper in the mountain, because there was only a slight flicker of light from distant torches, which Edmund was grateful for. They could not afford to be trapped inside the corridor or just outside it; they needed to be able to enter the cave entirely.

He went ahead of the others and crouched near the entrance, judging by the flickering firelight the length of the cave, and discovering an important piece of information: the cave was shaped like an L, with the longest part being where the entrance from the exterior was. Their corridor penetrated the very middle of the shortest side, which was slightly curved and full of columns and crevices which easily hid the hole. He could hear the low murmur of voices and the occasional crack of wood or the movement of a chair. The flickering shadows on the walls helped him know what number of people was in the cave.

They had not left yet, but it was obvious that they would. Edmund could see the outlines of weapons in their hands and people being dressed in old, heavy armor. He had been right. Now all they had to do was wait.

Their moment came nearly three hours later after what felt like the most agonizing wait of their lives.

Most of the Knights of Stone had left, and Edmund had heard Teucer's voice echoing throughout the cave, which made everything that was happening quite clear despite the fact that they were rather far. Things were going according to plan, and Edmund could almost taste victory when Teucer, followed by Nirthic and another Dwarf.

A few moments later, he gestured to the others.

Slowly, they stood up, grasping their weapons. Witrow, a satyr and the two Morkins quickly jumped down into the cave and moved towards the front of the cave, where they were to attack the guards, quickly followed by Edmund, a Faun and a Red Dwarf, who ran towards the end of the cave.

Teucer and his people barely had time to react, but when they reached them Teucer was already holding a sword at the ready, his wide eyes murderous. Beside him, Nirthic had seized a knife, while the other old Dwarf crouched behind the centaur.

Edmund ran to Teucer, their swords clashing loudly the very second they heard a pained cry from the Minotaur at the entrance of the cave. Edmund struck fiercely, delivering blow after blow. Beside him, the Faun was fighting Nirthic, who had proved himself quite skilled with the knife, while the Dwarf moved towards the one that hid behind Teucer. But the centaur rose up and delivered a kick at the Red Dwarf, who fell backwards, the wind knocked out of him, even as Edmund struck at Teucer's leg, causing it to bleed profusely.

The centaur screamed with rage, his leg crumpling beneath him, but he dragged himself forward with his other three legs, his sword coming down upon Edmund over and over again in a mad flurry of movement. Edmund found himself having to duck and jump sideways to avoid being beheaded. Still, he was suddenly seized with a strange uneasiness; he did not want to kill Narnians, and he definitely did not want to kill a centaur. Teucer might have gone insane with grief and hatred, but he had once been a magnificent creature. Despite all the destruction and pain that Teucer had created, Edmund could not bring himself to truly attempt to stab him in the heart.

That did not mean, however, that he would not disarm him. The Dwarf Teucer had kicked rose and distracted the centaur, giving Edmund opportunity to push him back towards a pile of empty crates. The centaur crashed against them and tripped, his already wounded leg crumpling beneath him once more, his age weighing him down as he fell, his sword slipping from his fingers. The Faun pressed Nirthic against the wall at that very moment, and Edmund seized the centaur's sword, holding them both pointed towards him.

"Surrender," said Edmund coldly. "And I will not kill you."

Teucer laughed a grotesque, mad laugh. "I do not want your pity, traitor."

And reaching sideways, he pulled the knife from Nirthic's hand and pulled the Dwarf to him, pressing a knife against his own accomplice. "We will not bow before false Kings." And he slit the Dwarf's throat before any of them could do anything, and then slit his own.

Their bodies crumpled to the ground and Edmund and his men had no choice but stand there and watch as they gave their dying coughs, blood spilling from their lips. Behind them, the cowering Dwarf was quickly apprehended by Witrow, the Morkins and the satyr. Roc had a grimace of pain on his face; he seemed to have broken a rib.

Edmund stared at the dead centaur that lay in the pool of blood, an inexplicable feeling in his stomach. He then took a deep breath and looked at the others, no joy or triumph in his expression.

"Well, then," he said.

..

They joined Borik and the others in the forest, bringing three tied-up dwarves on their horses, which they had left, tied up relatively near to the cave before leaving. The Minotaur had refused to surrender. The rocky hill now held nearly fifteen captives kneeling in a circle, carefully watched over by a boar and another leopard.

"The fighting just finished," said Borik, wiping the sweat off his forehead with a dirty rag. "But we seem to have lost seven of them… they stole some of the horses and are heading East."

Wordlessly, Edmund turned his horse and left in that direction, followed by five others. They went as fast as the forest would allow them, brushing past tree trunks and ducking branches. Edmund gripped the reins tightly, his jaw clenched with worry. They could not afford to let seven criminals free without at the very least standing trial; the rebellion ran the risk of repeating itself if the culprits were not caught and did not suffer the consequences for their actions. But they had had a head start; they must have left early on in the battle, if Borik had only just noticed it and had not acted immediately. He cursed mentally, urging his horse to go faster.

They reached the edge of the wood and galloped towards the road. The sun was already rising ahead of them, and the cold morning wind whipped at their face almost painfully. Edmund kept his eyes trained on any sign of a cloud of dust ahead as they advanced down the winding road. Perhaps they had already gone too far to be caught; Edmund shuddered to imagine the expressions on the villagers' faces when they realized that he and his people had allowed seven of the people responsible for the destruction and raiding of their village escape them. Though they had cut off the head of the rebellion, any remaining pieces of it that went unpunished could still be dangerous to Narnia.

Troubled as he was with these thoughts, it took Edmund a moment to process what was happening in front of him when he turned a corner and found himself at the crossroads of Pebble.

The seven remaining Knights of Stone seemed to have just gotten there as well, and were reining the horses sharply, trying to turn away from the barrier that had been lifted blocking the way East. Three of them were Talking Beasts, and were trying to climb or fly over it, but they were immediately hit with rocks or wooden clubs from the other side of the barrier.

The minute they turned to escape and saw Edmund and his people riding towards them, they dropped their weapons and surrendered. The gate of the barrier opened and Susan stood there, armed with her bow and quiver of arrows, and surrounded by villagers wielding homemade weapons.

"Hello Sister," said Edmund rather breathlessly as they tied up the criminals with some help from the villagers.

Susan smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

_My Brother:_

_You will be pleased to hear that Edmund returned to us yesterday morning, bringing with him a great number of Knights of Stone who surrendered. I am sure that he has informed you of their accomplishments, so I shall not waste time explaining them._

_The people of Pebble have taken matters into their own hands, and they have done so with much proficiency and prudence. A village council has been formed, with five members of different families elected by the villagers; their role from this moment on shall be to ensure that the village is secure, and send for aid if necessary, as well as make certain that all families are provided with the means to survive during the winter. This is, we believe, a most appropriate solution to the insecurity at the borders of the country; it ensures that the villages remain independent and resourceful, yet do not have to fend for themselves in the event of a serious threat. Perhaps we should consider implementing this system to villages in other parts of Narnia._

_A trial was held for those responsible of the cruel acts carried out by the Knights of Stone. Many of those who surrendered were young village families that had not had much contact with the others during the Long Winter, and had retreated towards the mountains during the Winter Revolution, fearful of what was to come. It was there that Lord Teucer drove them to rebellion. These people, who have now repented, were sentenced to a month of service to the village, in which they will help in agriculture and any repairs that may be deemed necessary. The others, who were not so full of regret and truly did believe in the rebel cause, have been sentenced to exile from the Western Fields, and shall be publicly denounced as criminals against the State; this, we hope, shall stop any attempt at reviving the Knights of Stone movement._

_I believe that a great thing has been accomplished, not only in defeating the rebels or implementing a new system in the village, but also in raising the morale of the people. Pebble has lived in fear for too long, and therefore their development has been severely stunted; but now I see a village of people determined to carry on and rebuild what was destroyed. Pebble's growth shall not stop here; I trust that with the new vision that the council has, in little time it shall once more be the center of Western trade, and a beacon of light to the rest of Narnia._

_We depart within two days, so we shall be arriving at the Cair near the end of the week. It grieves me that we will have missed great part of the Summer Festival, but what has been achieved in Pebble makes me feel that I would not have had it any other way. I am looking forward to being reunited with you and our Sister, as well as the rest of our friends. Tell King Lune that he may look forward to tasting his mead once more!_

_Your good sister,_

_Susan._

The tide was low, and the Kings, Queens, Princes and Lords had gone to the beach beside Cair Paravel that morning to find a low tent with an arrangement of cushions, chairs and tables, which were soon to be laden with food for dinner. While they were gone from the camp, the Narnians were already beginning to move barrels and crates back into the palace, in preparation for the final banquet that would take place the following night. King Lune and Prince Jarrash took a walk by the shore and were only visible as small dark figures against the bright white sand, and King Reghorius and Queen Amisse were sharing a small dish of pistachios as they sat on a pile of cushions. Cadoc, meanwhile, had begun a game of chess with Peter.

"I am not sure if I want to play against you," Peter said with a grin. "Peridan has told me that he lost to you within five minutes."

Cadoc smiled rather bashfully. "It was longer," he said, as he set the pieces in place. "But I doubt I could beat the High King of Narnia at chess."

Peter chuckled. "You already won the chess tournament, so I would not be surprised."

The Prince said nothing, but smiled as he leaned back in his seat and waited for Peter to make the first move of the game. He looked different than he had looked when he had first arrived; though still the tall, lanky, and rather clumsy boy, he seemed to have developed a new sense of confidence, which had showed in his fierce determination during sparring matches, and also during his expertly played chess matches. Even King Reghorius seemed to have noticed the difference: though he did not address his son often, when he did so it seemed to be with less of a reprimanding tone.

Lucy sat at the edge of one of the carpets facing the sea, her legs extended before her, her bare toes buried in the sand. She breathed in the salty scent of the wind and fingered a small seashell she had found near the water earlier; it was a beautiful pearly white on the outside, yet a light pink on the inside. She would later take it to adorn her room.

"It is a strangely enchanting place," said a low voice near her. She turned and found herself staring at Ishamiel Tarkaan, who stood some feet away from her, barefoot as well, his white tunic flowing in the wind as he stared in the opposite direction, towards the grass and the trees.

"Yes, it is," Lucy said with a smile.

Ishamiel turned to look at her, looking almost surprised that someone was there. He held her gaze for a moment, and then his dark eyes turned back towards the horizon. She stood up slowly and joined his side, looking very small beside his tall figure.

"The tales did not do Narnia justice," said the Tarkaan, his expression strangely soulful. A small smile appeared on his lips. "I came with Prince Jarrash merely because I was the only who would brave this land with him. My people have long feared the tales of animals that speak, men with the bodies of beasts, and trees that speak and walk about as humans do."

"It can be a shock," said Lucy with some amusement.

Ishamiel nodded. "The poets have said that man finds beauty in mysteries, and love in what he deems impossible. Narnia is a wild, savage land; its green hills and living forests seem to hide living and breathing magic. And I have discovered that the saying is true… Narnia has an irresistible spell that charms a man and changes him." A small smile appeared on his lips. "Calormen is like this also. Or at least, it is to those who seek the true Calormen." He turned to look at her. "Perhaps you may see it someday, Queen Lucy, and savor its enchantment."

"I would love to," she said sincerely. "It sounds beautiful."

"She is," said Ishamiel. "But she has changed. The wonders that were once valued highly are now buried underneath fire and stone and the sins of selfish emperors bowing to false idols. Calormen lies hidden under the weight of years of forgetfulness. She is not as she used to be. It grieves me to see my country in this state. But Narnia is new and young, unmarred."

"Not as unmarred as we wish," Lucy said sadly. "The Long Winter has hurt Narnia badly. But by the will of Aslan, our people are recovering, and we shall restore Narnia to her previous splendor."

Ishamiel smiled. "There are many tales of your Lion Prophet, told as horror stories, in our lands. But I cannot bring myself to believe that the creature they have spoken of could create such beauty in this land." He sighed. "There is much fear in Calormen, and I believe we may have inspired the same in other countries, for the people of Calormen speak the name of Tash as if He were a demon, they twist His words into devious plots to instill fright and weakness in our hearts."

Lucy said nothing as they stood in the sun. His eyes stared at something beyond the land in front of him. Finally, he spoke again. "But I do not believe we are all that different," he said, turning to look at her. "Tash was once a Prophet, before men began to forget his Truth. Tash inspired the Great Ardeeb Tisroc, who molded Calormen into a land of splendor and great beauty and riches, her science and arts the most advanced in the world. Tash taught of the search for Truth, and the love for beauty. His word united our tribes and so the Empire was born."

"Aslan speaks of love and sacrifice," said Lucy softly. "I never did believe that a country could be built on the words of demons."

"He was not so in the past," said Ishamiel, and his voice grew quiet, softer. When he spoke, he nearly did so in a whisper, as if he spoke solely to himself. "I have never felt the Truth of Tash as strongly as I do now, as I sit on the grass and watch your Fauns dance, as I speak to birds and wild woodland creatures, as I watch the dryads offer fruit to their Kings and Queens. It permeates everything, it flows in the water and in the wind, it grows within the very earth; your Aslan whispers the words of my Tash in my ear, and suddenly… suddenly I seem to feel truly alive."

They said nothing for some time, standing together in silence, their faces now turned towards the East. In the distance King Lune and Prince Jarrash returned, just as Cadoc beat Peter at chess, causing much amusement.

"I must go to Calormen someday," said Lucy presently. "So that I may learn from the true Tash as well."

"You would enjoy it, I believe," said Ishamiel with a smile. "The true temple of Tash is a library, not a home of statues and ceremonies. And my daughters would welcome you and be the best of friends. We would show you the true Calormen: a country of gardens, poetry and incense, sand, spices and beauty." He looked away. "Perhaps when Jarrash is Tisroc. He is a good man; you may be invited to the Coronation."

But Lucy's heart sank with his words. She knew that not even Ishamiel himself believed his own words, and she heard Dorick's voice in her mind. Jarrash would never wear the crown. Calormen would never be ruled by him.

...

Susan and Willow shared a smile as the monkey passed her, carefully handing drinks to all those present. She held back the urge to pull the monkey's small figure into a hug; there was something distinctly baby-like about her, even though she knew Willow was already a teenager by monkey standards.

Beside her, Edmund sat comfortably on a chair, quietly watching those who shared conversations all around him. They would leave the following morning, and the village council had called a meeting with those who had come from Cair Paravel. They had only just finished supper on the long tables that had been joined in the garden of the Morkins' house, and Susan suspected that soon there would be a speech.

The village council had been formed by a rapid election. Most of the village's decisions had been instant; the five who would represent them were people who had already demonstrated great ability and moral strength, and so it was simple to choose Hana Morkin, Ash the monkey, Clover the hare, the eldest of the Birdel brothers, and one of the dryads from the forest close by.

The eldest of the Birdel brothers rose in his seat and hit his goblet against the table to call everyone's attention. All faces turned to him.

"On behalf of Pebble's new village council," he began slowly, his gruff voice ringing loudly in the clearing. "I wish ter give a heartfelt thank you to Their Majesties the brave King Edmund, and the loving Queen Susan, as well as all those who came with them and have now become friends of this village and of its people. Without yer help, we would still be livin' in fear and we may not have survived the year. Yer courage and guidance have inspired us. Pebble's gates are always open, and we hope ter look upon yer faces again." He bowed deeply in all directions, and there was much applause.

As the dwarf sat down, Susan stood up, a smile on her lips. "I am sure that my Royal Brother agrees with me when I say this: these victories are yours and yours only. Our objective in coming was to aid a village in need: we would not have been able to do so had it not been for  _your_  guidance and support, and your willingness to open your homes to us. It is  _we_  who have been truly inspired. Here we have made friends and learned so much about your ways and your lives, and these are things that we shall cherish forever. Though we may leave tomorrow, our hearts are always with you, and know that if you ever require our help again, you must only ask. Thank you."

There was hearty applause, and Susan sat down once more. She could not help but feel that she had not managed to explain her feelings completely, that there had been words missing from her speech to describe how the past few days had changed her. As she looked around at the smiling faces of those whom she had helped, and who had unknowingly helped her on an entirely different level, she felt such a rise of emotion in her heart that she saw tears cloud her vision. Though she was keen to return to Cair Paravel, a great part of her yearned to stay there forever, with the people who had taught her the true meaning of strength and purpose.

Some hours later, after the last of the tables were cleared and put away, Susan found Hana standing on the porch of her house, her back towards her.

"Shall we go in?" Susan asked gently. The men had already retreated to the stable for the night, and the villagers were long gone.

Hana shook her head slightly in a gesture that looked so distant that Susan quickly walked up to her, joining her side. Even as she opened her mouth to inquire what was wrong, the dwarf woman spoke, her tone softer than Susan had ever heard it.

"I see it now," she said, leaning slightly against one of the columns. She seemed both younger and older at once. "Everything, so clearly."

Susan said nothing, but the confusion was evident on her face.

"All these years," said Hana. "These years of pain and suffering, and such heartbreaking loss… they have made me into what I am. I have been hit by countless hammers, but they've made the metal in my veins strong.

"I don't know if this winter will last forever or not," she continued. "But it is not my lot in life to know what is to come. No; my place has always been and forever will be in this house, in this village, in this part of Narnia, and my life has been and always will be a story of survival. I will not let it be any less. These seasons I will enjoy, and cherish in my heart always, and thank the Lion that my four sons lived to see Spring, Summer and Autumn again, and that perhaps they may see them for the rest of their lives." Hana met Susan's gaze, and there were tears glistening in her eyes. "And when Winter comes, I will not be afraid. I will survive it, as I have survived the seasons before it."

Susan did not realize she was crying until she felt the tears sliding down her cheeks. Neither she nor Hana said anything as they stood on the porch, but her mind was rushing with thoughts that filled her with both joy and grief at once. She felt both England and Narnia as beating hearts within her; twin words, twin realities, but in her soul they were one. It was not her lot in life to know what was to come, either, but her place would always be where Aslan bid her to go. And her life, like Hana's, would become a story of survival. On the porch of the Morkins' home, in the small village of Pebble, in the distant Western Fields, Susan Pevensie swore to herself that she would survive.

"My worlds are passing seasons," she murmured to herself, as tears ran down her cheeks. "And only Aslan knows how long each shall last, or if I shall ever return to the other. But I cannot live in fear of what is to come. My purpose is not to know, it is to find reason within faith."

...

The camp was slowly being dismantled, leaving nothing but the tents that the delegations from other countries would require to sleep that night. The Pevensies were to return to the palace that night, since the Summer Festival would have officially ended, and the next morning would be spent at the harbor, saying farewell to Galma and Calormen as they left Narnia. Archenland would follow suit shortly afterwards.

As the camp was dismantled, the Great Hall of Cair Paravel was already being decorated for the closing banquet that would be held within the next five hours or so. Large amounts of food were being prepared in the kitchens, and people ran back and forth checking that everything was in place. Peter went to oversee the preparations and then, pleased with the way the Hall was looking, directed his footsteps towards his study, where some pressing matters awaited him before he could retire to prepare himself for that night's festivities.

Susan and Edmund would be arriving at sundown, a gryphon had informed him. They would have exactly enough time to prepare themselves for the banquet.

As he walked down a corridor on his way to the study, he stopped a passing faun. "Have you seen Queen Lucy?"

"She is in the Southern gardens, Sire."

"I should have known," said Peter, and thanking the faun, made his way to the nearest balcony he could see that looked over the south side of the palace gardens. He could use some help redacting a letter to the King of Terebinthia; it was generally Susan, or in her absence, Edmund, who would help him in matters such as this one, but Lucy's readiness to assist anywhere she was needed told him that she would not mind him asking her for help.

He neared the sunny balcony and set his hands on the warm stone wall, looking down. Beneath him, a large garden extended from the walls of the palace to the inner wall of Cair Paravel which served to isolate the citadel. There were large beds of flowers, bushes laden with fruit, beautiful trees, and even tiny streams that ran from one end of the garden to the other, with strikingly carved bridges leading over it.

It was on one of these bridges that Peter saw Lucy's small figure sitting, her legs folded underneath her as she peered through the rails down into the water, her hand outstretched as she tried to reach it. Giving up, she stood and skipped down to its banks, where she began to carefully set small dry leaves onto the water and watch them as they floated past her like small boats. The sun shone in her hair, giving it a reddish tone, and suddenly Peter was fully conscious of how small she looked.

Lucy had said she had left childhood behind her in England, but though Peter knew that this was true, he also knew that Lucy had not given up the part of her that was a child yet. Lucy could spend days administrating complex events and helping him set treaties with neighboring countries, but there would come a time when she needed to go down to the gardens and simply play as the child that she still was. Lucy knew that she needed balance.

Peter smiled as he watched his little sister reach into the water, trying to catch tadpoles with fierce determination. The letter to Terebinthia could wait.

The doors of Cair Paravel opened wide at sundown to welcome in all those that had participated in the Summer Festival and lead them to the Great Hall, where the banners of each country had been raised, and the tables had been laden with food. The Grey Fauns had begun to play a soft melody, and even as all were seated and drinks began to be passed around, Peter and Lucy got word that Susan and Edmund had arrived.

Lucy beamed. She was now wearing a formal gown and a circlet upon her head, just as Peter was wearing an elegant tunic and cloak and his crown. He smiled back at her, and at that precise moment, Prince Jarrash made his way to their table, sitting on one of the empty chairs.

"I am aware that this seat has been reserved for another," said the Prince. "But I merely wished to congratulate you, High King; word has come to my ears of your Royal Brother's success. Your swift action and effective methods have convinced me once more of Narnia's strength and valor. The Tisroc (may he live forever!) shall be pleased to hear of this."

Peter smiled. "It is an honor to be so well thought of, Prince Jarrash," he said. "Just as it has been an honor to have had you join us during these days of celebration. It is our fervent hope that our alliance has been further strengthened by this event."

"It most certainly has been," said Jarrash with an elegant nod of his head. His smile was sincere. "I shall speak to the Tisroc (may he live forever!) immediately upon my return. Perhaps then we may discuss the subject of trade between our countries."

They shared a firm shake of hands, and then the Prince left, leaving the seat empty just as the wide doors opened and Susan and Edmund, followed by Borik, Witrow, and all those who had gone with them to the West, entered the Great Hall following a herald who announced them. Peter watched as his sister and brother made their way to their table, and suddenly was seized with great pride at the sight of his brother and sister looking more grown up than he had ever seen them, a triumphant, though tired, air about them as they walked, their eyes and smiles speaking of victory.

All applauded as they went to sit beside their brother and sister. Before the large audience, they could not exchange words as of yet, but they exchanged glances and smiles, even as Peter stood up, extending his arms in a welcoming gesture.

"Welcome, friends of Narnia, to the final banquet, which shall conclude these days of festivity that we have all enjoyed," he said, his voice ringing throughout the Hall. "Narnia has been greatly honored by all of your presences, and we will remember these days for years to come as the days in which unbreakable bonds of friendship have been made and our victories have been celebrated." He turned towards Edmund and Susan. "I also wish to welcome my Royal Brother King Edmund, and my Royal Sister Queen Susan, as they have returned from their duties in the West, where they were occupied with ensuring that peace may never be stolen from the Narnian people."

Applause rang throughout the Hall once more, and Peter smiled, raising his goblet of wine. "So let us drink to the prosperity of Archenland, Calormen, Galma and Narnia. May these days of joy be only the beginning of an era of splendor and glory for all our countries."

All raised their glass, and Susan could not help but laugh as she saw King Lune cheerfully open his bottle of Archenland mead, raising his goblet to her, his eyes twinkling.

Dancing soon began, to the soft sound of what reminded Peter of an English Waltz. Susan and Lucy were quickly asked to the dance floor as the Princes and Kings left their tables, and Peter left his seat to join conversation with the King of Galma, who was looking unusually thoughtful as he drank his wine, standing near his table, with some Galman Lords on either side. His eyes fixed on Peter as he approached, and he gave Peter what almost looked like a smile, moving a few steps towards him.

"I hear Narnia has no ships of her own," said King Reghorius, in a tone that held no derision.

"Sadly, it is true," said Peter. "There has been some thought of having one or two built, for there is a pressing need, given that they are necessary in order to visit our allies, such as Galma. It is, however, rather complicated, given that there are no Narnians with the necessary knowledge."

King Reghorius smiled. "Perhaps Galma could offer assistance, then, High King. I know a few men with great skill who might be fit for such a project."

Peter's smile was of true delight. "That would be very generous of you," he said. "Thank you."

"Perhaps my son may visit often as well," said the King, rather gruffly, though there was no anger in his gaze. "Narnia seems to do him good."

"We would be pleased to have him," said Peter. "He shows much promise."

Reghorius looked rather doubtful, and sighed. "I do hope so, High King. I hope so."

Lucy ended her dance with Prince Cadoc and made her way to the table to have something to eat, just as two large baskets were brought forth by some servants, containing pears, which none at the feast other than the Pevensies seemed to have tried before, except for the occasional Talking Bird. As the music stopped momentarily, Susan declared their name and explained their discovery to all those near her, encouraging them to try the new fruit, which was soon met with much admiration and delight.

"So she discovered the pear?" Lucy asked Edmund in bewilderment. He was still seated at the large table, finishing his dinner. "I hadn't even realized pears were not eaten in Narnia."

Edmund grinned. "Neither did I, but it is so entertaining to watch them try it for the first time."

They laughed together, and she moved to the chair beside him, her cheeks rather flushed from all the dancing. They shared a look. "How have you been?" he asked.

Lucy smiled at him. "I have been well," she said. "But you are the one with all the adventures to tell."

"I do, but that may wait until later, when you and Peter interrogate us for details before bed," said Edmund with a small smirk. As they spoke, he reached into his pocket and took out a small bundle, which he handed to a faun. In the nearest table, they could hear King Lune cheerfully speaking of the names that he and his wife in Anvard were considering for his twin sons. Edmund remained where he was, but presently Lucy left him to return to the dancing.

Meanwhile, Peter was approached by a faun and handed a small package as he spoke to King Reghorius and Lord Claeys. He glanced up towards where Edmund sat and gave him an inquisitive look. His brother responded with a small shrug and an amused smirk. Peter held his gaze for a moment, feeling puzzled, before turning back to the bundle in his hand. He excused himself from those around him and moved towards another corner of the room, near the dancers. He then unwrapped it and discovered a rock resting in the middle of his palm. He turned to Edmund, his eyebrows raised.

"I told you I would bring you a rock," said Edmund, a grin on his face as he joined him some minutes later.

Peter tried to hold back a smile of amusement and failed. They laughed together, and he slipped the rock into his pocket with a shake of his head.

"What happened to your face?" he asked Edmund as he noticed the small cuts near his brother's forehead.

"A particularly angry raven," said Edmund dryly. "I think he was trying to tear my face off."

"It could have been worse, then," said Peter, an amused smile still on his lips. His brother snorted and they turned to look at the dancers as they turned and glided over the marble floor.

He could see Lucy, dancing with Ishamiel Tarkaan seeming deeply immersed in her conversation with the older man. She did not look like the young girl she was, but rather like a Queen and a wise woman, graceful and intelligent as she moved smoothly over the floor. Lucy, his youngest sister, and yet at times the eldest of them all. It was all so much clearer to him now. Lucy understood Narnia; she loved it, breathed it, grew with it. She displayed its age and experience just as much as its youth and fairness, and in her the balance of traits had created an enchanting, knowledgeable soul.

Susan sat near King Lune, smiling and laughing at the King's jokes, her eyes shining as he told stories of Anvard and spoke of his children. There was something different about her, Peter could tell. She seemed more alive, more focused to the world around her, as if she had let go of something and now she was free. Her hands were worn and rough from the work she had done in the village, but there was a softness to her gaze, a fierce, blazing light of affection for everyone and everything around her in her eyes.

And Edmund stood beside him, looking more like a grown man than Peter ever remembered him looking. There was no trace left of the young, snide boy who had come to Narnia. Edmund was a King and a Knight, his eyes taking in the view before him with quiet detachment. He was a strong man with the quiet determination to redeem himself before Narnia.

Even as he looked at the three of them he felt their gazes on him, and saw both Susan and Lucy excuse themselves from their conversations, making their way towards him and Edmund. Outside, the sun had set and the stars shone brightly in the sky, reflected against the large, dark expanse of the sea. As Peter glanced at it through one of the large open windows, he remembered his dream, and for a moment it seemed as if the moonlight made the horizon gleam a golden color, and he could almost see a bright land shining beyond the waters.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review if you can spare the time! Thanks for reading!


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